


Faith in the Path

by TozaBoma



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: F/M, Gen, Orb, time travel is a many splendoured thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-06-10 00:41:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 50,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6930961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TozaBoma/pseuds/TozaBoma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The orb of time has business with DS9 and the crew of a certain Enterprise ship classification NX-01. Episodically canontastic. Takes place after DS9 5x19 Ties of Blood and Water and ENT 4x21, AKA the Actual Last Episode. Rated T/Teen and Up for some shooting, peril, O’Brien’s mouth, and references to war. Alert: I have been and always shall be a TnT shipper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

 

The promenade was quiet - unusually so for Odo’s taste. He leant against the open door of the security office, his arms folded, his face immobile.

The lights flickered when they were supposed to, the power hummed under the floors and in the walls as it had been designed to do, and even the hushed light that was seeping out of a closed Quark’s bar was behaving itself. In short, everything was in perfect order.

Odo’s face gave the barest suggestion of a smile. Then his arms dropped and he turned to the security office, stepping inside and going around his large desk. He sat in the chair and looked out. He couldn’t help nodding to himself at the peace and control going on all around him.

His hand went out to the display before him and he adjusted a few settings, changed a few comments, and decided that it was high time he gave up waiting for something to interfere with the evening serenity of the public part of the station.

A dark red boot shot over the entrance step to the office and then in strode Major Kira, a two-foot square metal crate in her hands. She had a look on her face that Odo knew meant someone was in for a good kicking. She plonked the crate down on the desk in front of him before straightening up and wiping her hands together.

“There,” she huffed. “You wanted it, you can have it.” She turned to leave.

“Major?” he prompted.

She paused on the threshold, turning back to look at him. “Don’t you dare tell me you don’t want it,” she warned. “I’ve just spent three hours having it released from only-the-Prophets-know-how-many seals and security warnings.” She raised her hands in surrender. “Have fun with it. I’m done.” She turned again to the exit.

“Major - wait.”

She spun, her jaw sticking out far enough to warn him he might be in danger of losing - or at least having to reshape - an eye if he said the wrong word in the next minute.

He got up, coming round the desk to peer at the lid of the crate. “What _is_ this?”

Her mouth fell open and her eyes goggled at him. “This is the thing! The thing you wanted released from Starfleet security seals!”

He frowned first at the crate, then at her. “I didn’t ask for anything from Starfleet.”

“Now listen,” she barked, her finger pointing at his uniform in accusation. “I was told you wanted it. I spent half the day getting it. If someone’s done this as some kind of prank, I’ll—”

“You got it!”

Kira and Odo turned to look at the entrance. Jadzia Dax, still neat as a pin despite the last eight hours spent in Ops, had a huge grin on her face and a wicked glint to her eye. She stepped into the security office - gracefully as always - and went straight to the crate.

“ _You_ wanted this?” Odo asked, surprised.

“You mean I spent half my shift digging this thing out of legal ribbons for _you?_ ” Kira asked.

“You did? Thanks,” Dax said brightly. “I asked Benjamin for it. He said he was going to ask Odo.”

Kira and Odo shared a look that had everything to do with Starfleet types demanding anything of their time, and how many of those orders would fit up their Starfleet backsides with the right incentive.

“What is it?” Odo asked, going round the desk to watch her open it from the other side.

Dax undid the security lock on the top. “It’s the Lost and Found.”

“I already have a receptacle for lost items,” Odo grunted. “It’s in the back by the holding cells.”

“That’s for people who live on the station,” Dax said. She levered the two doors up and open, letting them hang over the edge. Her hands went in and she rummaged around. “You know how visiting dignitaries leave things lying around, then blame us for losing it?”

“All too well,” Odo grunted.

“Benjamin started this box for _them_. When anything valuable or looking like it belongs to a senator, ambassador or higher-ranking official turns up, it gets left in here.” She frowned, pulling her hand out. “Oh.”

“And you wanted this open?” Kira asked, some of her anger dying down. “What are you looking for?”

“I have a friend - on the _Lexington_. She got some shore leave so she came here. We went to Quark’s - she’s never played Tongo, can you believe that? We ended up playing most of the night.”

“What does that have to do with this Lost and Found box?” Odo asked. He looked at Kira, who shook her head and then put her hands on her hips, looking at the ceiling.

“Well, Kerima - my friend - had this pin she got from a Vulcan ambassador. _He_ got it from a friend at the Vulcan Science Academy, who first bought it when he was—”

“It is valuable?” Kira asked politely.

Dax looked at her. “It’s _very_ valuable. And I know she didn’t lose it at Quark’s - she checked all her belongings before she left with me, and it was still there.”

“Huh,” Odo judged, going back to sit in his chair. “Well you can take your Lost and Found and go through it in your own quarters, Commander. I don’t think you need the security of this office.”

Dax picked up the crate in both hands. “Thanks!” She turned to go.

“Wait,” Kira called. “Is there a vedek’s robe pin in there? Vedek Toneek mentioned losing one just two weeks ago, the last time she came up here from Bajor.”

“Come and dig in, if you want,” Dax said over her shoulder as she stepped out of the office. “I bet every one of these things has a story behind it.”

“You can turn up all the stories you want,” Kira said as she followed her. “If I can find Toneek’s pin perhaps she’ll listen to me when I tell her not to buy into the Chamber of Ministers’ constant griping about this place.”

“Anything’s possible,” Dax smiled. “Night, Odo!”

“Commander,” he nodded to her. He looked at Kira. “Major.”

Kira paused to turn and offer him a smile. “Constable.” She turned and went after Dax.

Once again, calm and serenity descended upon the promenade. Odo leant back in his chair, absorbing the peace and quiet.

Presently, he got up, checked up on all the deputies re: their vigilance, updated the schedule for the criminal activity report download, and then decided it was high time he found his bucket. He set the office to automatic, toggled the alert status in the back room to ‘on’, and closed the doors.

He surveyed the promenade one more time before he nodded and went to the door to the holding area. It swept open and he went in, the door hissing shut behind him with an air of pride.

So he didn’t see the wall across the promenade, or the panel that kicked itself free of it to skid to a stop right between the shop and the security office. Neither did he see the oily boots that slid the owner free of their hiding place.

 

-^-

 

Dax placed the crate on her side table, walking around it to the replicator. “Want a drink?” she asked over her shoulder.

Kira walked over to the crate and peered inside. “After the day I’ve had? You owe me more than one.”

“What do you want?”

“Whatever’s _not_ made by Starfleet,” the Bajoran groused. “That fake stuff they make is an embarrassment.”

Dax put a hand on the replicator surround as she smiled. “You’ve got _that_ right. Computer… two Toyla Risers, please.” The light shimmered and weaved, and then two tall, narrow glasses appeared, each wearing rather fetching orange wedges on their rims.

Kira had her hand in the crate as Dax turned, carrying the two drinks over to the table. “Here,” she said. “It’s from Trill - the part that likes to party.”

“Honestly?” Kira asked, her face a dictionary entry on dubious.

“Really! It might even make you rethink us Starfleet people. We’re not all from Earth, you know.”

Kira smiled, taking the glass and sipping at it. She appeared to swish it around her mouth before she half swallowed, half coughed it down. Dax chuckled as she watched the Bajoran recover from her first taste. “See? What did I tell you,” she grinned.

Kira looked at the glass before sipping some more. “Ok, I take it back. Starfleet types _can_ make a proper drink when they want to.”

Dax went to the crate. “What time are you in Ops tomorrow?”

“I got the afternoon shift,” Kira said. “You?”

“Evening rotation.” She sipped her drink. “So let’s upend this thing and see what falls out, shall we?”

Kira took another sip from her glass, something about the real fruit around the rim making her want to just tip it all back and apologise to the Prophets later. Instead she put the glass down and picked up the crate. She went to the coffee table by Dax’s sofa and gently spilled the contents over the surface.

“Look at that,” Dax breathed in awe. She knelt down by the table and picked up a long, oblong tube. “A Bevarian whistle. I wonder who lost this on a station like ours?”

Kira didn’t spare it a glance. Instead she crouched and picked up a vedek pin before swinging it between her fingers. “Toneek is going to change her mind about this place.”

“So long as she doesn’t think we stole it from her in the first place,” Dax warned. Something caught her eye and she picked up a rod filled with dark orange liquid. “That’s odd.”

“What is?” Kira asked. Her arm wheeled back to aid her reach to the table; she picked up her drink so she could down more of it.

Dax sat back on her heels to scrutinise the rod in her hands. “Could it be a holosuite programme?”

“You can’t tell that just by looking,” Kira teased.

Dax shrugged, her face thoughtful. “It’s not sensitive, or it wouldn’t have been allowed to be dropped into Lost and Found.”

“Let me see,” Kira said, taking it from her and lifting it towards the dull lights in the ceiling. “You know… it does look like one of Quark’s holosuite rods.”

“I wonder what’s on it,” Dax mused. “You and I should go to the holosuites again - we haven’t been in too long. Shoot some things, drink _good_ Earth drinks, sing some songs, shoot some more things. It’d be fun.”

Kira smiled. “Sounds a little Klingon to me.”

“That’s why it’d be _fun_ ,” Dax grinned. “You could pick the holosuite programme if you wanted.”

Kira looked back at the box. “So is your friend’s pin in here or what?”

Dax pulled out more items, paring through them until the box, and her hands, were empty. “No,” she grumped.

“Ah well.” Kira got up and took the box with her. A metallic rattling sound made them both pause. Kira turned the crate upside down and out fell a long, slim silver item.

“Thanks!” Dax grinned. She plucked the fallen item from the table and studied it. Around four inches long and very shiny, it appeared to be a gentle curve with a tiny beak at one end. Dax squeezed at the odd-looking lips and the long pin opened up. “Oh - it’s for _hair_ ,” she realised. “I thought it was going to be for clothes.”

Kira came closer to squint at it. “It almost looks like… latinum,” she said, surprised.

“It does.” Dax got up and slid it into her hair at the back. “How do I look?”

“Like someone who needs to return lost property.”

Dax smiled and helped her pick up all the items and pile them back into the crate. Dax shut the lid and locked it. “I should take this back to the security office.”

“Odo will be off-duty by now,” Kira said with a shake of the head. “The place will be locked up until morning.”

“Well then. How about a game of Tongo before bed?”

“I have never - and _will_ never - play that game, thank you,” Kira said.

“But the night is early!”

“And my glass is empty,” she said pointedly.

The Trill turned back to the replicator. “Plenty more where that came from.”

 

-^-

 

“Odo,” Sisko said, catching sight of his chief of security on his hands and knees in the middle of the main thoroughfare of the promenade. Two Bajoran deputies were off to one side, one watching the chief, the other conversing with a woman who appeared a little shaken. Sisko came closer. “Odo,” he said again, this time louder.

“Hmm,” Odo grunted in thought. He pushed himself up off the floor and stood. “Looks like someone wanted to release that panel in a hurry. ”

“What’s happening here?”

Odo paused, then looked at the Starfleet officer. “There’s been an attempted robbery, Captain.” He looked Sisko up and down. “What do you need me for?”

Sisko looked around the promenade, mindful of how many people were looking on with naked curiosity. “I need you to tell me what happened.”

“A panel was freed from the wall. Explosively, judging by the marks on the metal, and the surrounding carpet where it landed _before_ it bounced.”

“What could do that without making enough noise to wake the neighbours?” Sisko asked.

Odo glanced at him, then looked back down at the panel. “Could have been… magnacite drops.”

“Magnacite…? I’ve never heard of it.”

“I have,” Odo said, his voice a warning, as he turned and looked toward the entrance to Quark’s.

Sisko huffed slightly. “I have Bajoran safety inspectors arriving tomorrow and if they walk down here and see panels just flying off the walls it’s not going to go down well.”

“It didn’t fly off the wall - someone pushed it off,” Odo gruffed.

Sisko resisted the temptation to roll his eyes. “ _Who_ pushed it off - and why?”

“I don’t know. —Yet.”

“Well can you find out quickly? Before these inspectors show up?”

“We’re all aware how important this visit is, Captain,” Odo intoned. He turned to the two Bajoran deputies. “Get this evidence back to the security office.” He stepped closer to the woman and waved a palm out to indicate the way. “Ma’am, if you’ll come with me, please.”

She walked off toward the security office. Odo nodded to Sisko and followed her. The two deputies acknowledged Sisko and then crouched, picking up the panel and hefting it after their chief.

Sisko blew out a sigh before he looked across the promenade. “O’Brien!” he called, spotting the engineer heading through the crowd. “O’Brien - a minute, please!”

Miles O’Brien, chief engineer and tool-scrubber, veered right and came to a stop in front of Sisko. “Sir?”

“About those safety rails in Ops,” he said, gesturing they walk.

O’Brien nodded uneasily, and proceeded to explain how it would be physically, metallurgicly, and in all other ways impossible to rip out every safety rail in Ops and replace them with ones of Starfleet spec. before the visiting inspectors arrived.

A figure at the stairs to the upper level stopped to watch the two men pass - a figure in a long, dark blue cloak with a rather fetching hood. Sturdy, oily boots met the carpet, and the well-hemmed cloak hung just short enough to leave a little of the expensive trousers visible. In fact, everything in the ensemble would have rivalled anything in the high-end corner of Garak’s store.

Everything, that is, except the sharp knife that slipped from the sleeve, into the palm of the owner.

 

-^-

 

The woman stepped over the entrance to the security office, lifting her skirts with her. Heavy but seemingly well-made of some kind of dark green silk, they made the woman appear tall enough to be imposing when framed by the room’s exit. The impression of authority was destroyed the moment her hands knitted themselves together in nervousness, and her thin voice dared to try to interrupt the silence.

“Will this take long, Mr Odo?” she asked.

Odo came into the security office after her, then waved her to seat. “Please, sit.”

She settled herself into the chair as he stepped to one side and the deputies came over the threshold, carrying the panel into the office and manhandling it through to the more open area by the holding cells. Odo came round his desk and sat down, taking a mental snapshot of the visitor; perhaps nearly fifty standard years old, her brown hair was plaited delicately into three, each one looped round and pinned to the back of her head. A large, ornate Bajoran earring hung from her right, and her comfortably round face carried just a hint of apology.

“Now,” he said cautiously. “Are you the owner of the shop?”

“No, although I do run it. My name is Bonaam Faleek,” she said. “I also _live_ at the import shop.”

He stood, reaching for the PADD on the desk in front of him. “And the panel that flew across the carpet.”

“Yes, about that,” she said, clasping her hands together. “I feel awful. I had no idea something had happened to it until one of your constables came to my shop this morning and told me why I had emergency plexi-fibre across the hole. Please - can you tell me what happened?”

Odo rested the edge of the PADD on the desk. “It seems it shot out of the wall by itself, Ms Bonaam. My _deputies_ are still trying to figure out why.”

“I can’t think how it could have done,” she said. “That panel only covers a small area behind a storage cupboard on the inside of my shop. It’s so small that - well - I don’t even use it for storage.”

“Interesting,” Odo said, his chin lifting. “Tell me, Ms Bonaam - how long have you been on the station?”

“Nearly five years,” she said.

“And why did you leave Bajor?”

“I didn’t come here from Bajor.” She turned deliberately to appraise the security monitor to her left. “I was - I was on Cardassia. For a while.” She paused, curling a single wisp of stray hair round her ear. “Eventually I found my way back, but… I can’t go down there. To Bajor. Not after…” She sighed. “Well.”

Odo clasped his hands and leant them on the desk. She kept her face averted. “Pardon me for noticing, Ms Bonaam, but you seem to be quite well off. What exactly did you leave Cardassia with?”

Her face flushed and looked back at him. He noticed the hair previously tucked behind her ear swung loose, revealing several thin, criss-crossed white scars. She hastily pushed the hair over them again as she stood. “I came to tell you nothing has been stolen from my shop, Mr Odo. It’s my _duty_ , Mr Odo,” she snapped. “If you need me, you know where I’ll be.” She whisked out of the door and was gone.

Odo stared after her. Then he shook his head and looked at the data on the PADD in his hand. He heard boots on carpet and looked up.

Major Kira was stepping into the office, a tasked look on her face. “Was that the shop owner?”

“More shop _runner_ ,” Odo nodded. “Bonaam Faleek - do you know her?”

“No, but… she seems familiar. I must have seen her around the station.”

“Something I can do for you, Major?”

She put her hand out, opening the fingers to reveal a silver pin. “Dax and I found this. We _thought_ it was the one that her friend lost, but it’s not. Dax contacted her and she said it looks a bit similar but it’s definitely not hers. I thought we could trace who it belongs to - it’s apparently covered in latinum.”

Odo appraised her for a long moment. “And why do you want to trace the owner of a valuable pin? It’s not Ops business, is it?”

Kira smiled in defeat. “You’ve got me. I was kind of hoping it belonged to one of the ministers. We’ve had so many of them up here recently, and it’s Bajoran-made.”

“It is?” he asked, surprised.

She came round the side of the desk and held it out to him. He took it slowly and turned it over in his fingers. She watched it shine under the dull lighting of the security office. “It’s made of triboromide, then plated in latinum.”

“Well it’s a Bajoran metal, alright,” Odo mused. “Very dense, very strong - and very expensive.”

“I’m guessing that’s why they used it for this particular piece.” She paused. “Do you think that’d make it easier to trace?”

“Should do,” he nodded. “Have you already taken scans of it?”

“I have. I’ve uploaded them to the database. We can take a look at them later.” She picked the pin delicately from his hands and moved toward the exit.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“Taking this back to Dax. She wants to torture Quark with the fact that it’s very valuable and she has no intention of letting him get his hands on it. Any objections?”

Odo leant back in his chair. “By all means, go right ahead.”

She smiled. “Knew you’d see it like that.” She turned but paused as her comm badge beeped.

“Sisko to Kira,” came a stern voice.

She tapped at the Bajoran commlink. “Kira here.”

“Emergency meeting, Major - the inspectors will be here in eighteen hours.”

Kira glanced back at Odo, her eyes rolling. “Understood. I’m on my way.”

“The pin will have to wait,” Odo said.

“I guess so.” She left.

-^-

 

Quark opened up the front door, rolling the sliders back into place and carrying his small strongbox of latinum under his arm. He made it to the bar before he set it down. Hearing a noise, he turned to see Morn sidling in through the entrance.

“You,” Quark sighed. “It’s not even breakfast, Morn. What do you want?”

Morn wandered in and simply sat himself in his customary chair.

“Fine, fine!” Quark said, his hands up in defeat. “Pancakes? Vulcan ones with those disgusting berries you like?”

Morn opened his mouth, his finger going up in a question.

“I’ve told you,” Quark said hastily, “ _don’t_ ask where I get them.”

Morn let his hand drop and his mouth close. He watched Quark begin locating rods and security keys from under the long bar, slotting them into places that would allow the replicators access to power and Quark’s own recipes. The Ferengi turned back to Morn, about to check on his choice of breakfast beverage, when he noticed a figure slumped over a far table. He squinted at it, then huffed and came out from behind the counter. Crossing quickly to the man, he worried his shoulder harshly.

“You there,” he called at him. “You can’t be asleep in my bar! I don’t care how much you’ve drunk - you’ll have to leave!”

The man, an apparently older Bajoran, did not even stir.

“Typical!” Quark accused. “You holier-than-thou types are always lecturing me about morals and gambling establishments, but it doesn’t stop you from sleeping one off - and _trespassing_ while you’re doing it!”

He shook him again. The man slid straight off the stool and onto the floor. Quark stepped back. Then he crouched and felt for the man’s pulse. He gasped. He shot upright and skittered backwards toward the front doors.

“Odo!” he shouted, his eyes never leaving the man on the carpet. “Odo! This is an outrage! There’s a dead man in my bar and it’s not even breakfast!”

 


	2. TWO

 

 

Odo crouched between the dead body and the plinth for the Dabo tables, watching Doctor Julian Bashir give the recently-discovered corpse a good going-over with a few handheld medical devices. The noises and lights ceased to hold Odo’s attention after less than a minute, whereupon he started scrutinising the body instead.

“Well?” he asked Bashir. “Do you know what happened?”

“Of course,” the doctor said, beaming a huge smile at him. “He died.”

Odo tutted and rolled his eyes. He got to his feet and looked around at the two deputies trying to creep closer. “Get to the front door - keep everyone out,” he grunted.

The two Bajorans - one man, one woman - nodded and backed up quickly, turning to the people trying to lean on the security barrier to the bar, hoping to see what was going on.

“Do you have a cause of death?” Odo pressed.

Bashir began running yet another diagnostic tool over the man’s head, then his back. “Poison,” he said curtly. He passed the device to a male nurse behind him before pushing himself up to stand. “I’d say he’s been dead about… ooh, three hours.”

“What kind of poison?” Odo asked.

“Alcohol,” Bashir nodded.

“Excuse me?”

“Just plain, simple alcohol,” said Bashir. “He would have been noticeably confused, unable to speak, had trouble breathing, shaking like a leaf in a draught - but then again, I’m guessing a lot of people in here would have been quite intoxicated last night, too.”

“Why’s that?” Odo asked, mystified.

“It’s a well-stocked bar,” Bashir said with a shrug. “That, and… Bajoran ‘safety inspector’s are arriving soon. Didn’t you know they were coming to the station?”

“Doctor, I’m well aware of their impending visit,” he said. “Why would this make people happy? Most humanoids I’ve encountered run from bureaucracy and ‘red tayp’.”

“I didn’t say it would make them _happy_ ,” Bashir smiled, turning to his open medkit on the nearby table. He started to pack away his things. The nurse turned to him and they discussed getting the body back to the infirmary. Then he looked up at Odo again. “If you need me I’ll be in the infirmary, doing an autopsy. I’ll send you my report as soon as I have it.”

“Appreciated, Doctor,” Odo nodded.

Bashir turned to the stretcher and the two nurses now beginning to lift it. “Well come on, poor chap. Let’s see if we can’t reveal any secrets about your unfortunate debauchery, eh?”

The three medical staff walked out, leaving Odo to fold his arms and stare straight across the room. “Well?” he demanded.

Quark, currently leaning against the bar with a far away look on his face, jumped. “What?”

“What do you have to say about all this?” Odo asked. He crossed the room toward him. “A dead man in your bar, and all you do is call for Security? What’s the matter - you couldn’t find any pockets to pick?”

“Odo, that’s slander,” Quark tutted. “I can’t have dead people in my bar - it’s bad for—”

“Business - yes, I know,” Odo interrupted. “Who is he?”

“Why are you asking me?” Quark demanded. “All I know is he was _not_ here when I locked up last night, and the security system doesn’t register him arriving.”

“So you’re saying he got blind drunk, managed to get in here undetected, and simply expired on one of your tables?”

“Stop putting words in my mouth,” Quark snapped. “Find out who he is and why he just decided to die in my bar! And make sure this doesn’t happen again! You’re supposed to protect us! What if he had a death wish that included everyone around him? We could have been in real danger.”

Odo scoffed from deep in the back of his simulation of a throat, then shook his head and walked away. He spoke with the deputies at the entrance before he broke through the throng of rubber-neckers and headed back to the Security Office.

Quark watched the onlookers for a moment. Then he pulled his jacket straight, squared his shoulders, and strode over to the crowd. “Now, I bet you’re all wondering who that poor, helpless man was, right?” he began. “Well, as a bartender, I hear everyone’s sob stories sooner or later. If anyone wanted to hear why he was in here in the first place, and how the poor, unfortunate wretch came to want to end it all, then perhaps I could open a small portion of the bar. As a sign of respect.”

Faces turned to him. Ears opened. And Quark smiled with the feeling that, very soon, the ‘small portion’ of the bar would very quickly fill with thirsty listeners.

 

-^-

 

Dax crossed her ankles on the end of the Ops console, sipping her afternoon raktajino. Kira’s voice floated over from the far corner where she appeared hard at work at a more private console, but the Bajoran liaison officer was hardly Dax’s auditory target. “And he just stood up and recited the entire first part of the poem from memory,” she said. “It was _amazing_ \- he was so loud, so commanding, so heroic as he recounted the tale of the servant and his mistress.”

O’Brien looked over from his higher tier, over on the engineering side of things. “Morn did? You’re joking.”

Worf scowled at the Ops table in front of him. “This time, she is not,” he intoned. “I heard him too.”

“So what did you do?” O’Brien asked.

“I bought him another drink and asked him to do part two, of course,” Dax grinned.

“Again, she is not joking,” Worf sighed.

The doors to the prefect’s office opened without warning. Dax swung her feet down from the desk quickly, turning her seat round to cast an eye over the read-outs that had been dormant long before she had started her shift.

Sisko came down the steps from the office. He stopped at the crisis table at the bottom. Looking around, he spotted Kira away from her usual spot, completely engrossed in her quiet conversation. He looked at Worf. “Have I missed something?”

“Major Kira is trying to trace someone,” he said simply.

“I did offer to help,” Dax said, “but she’s got it under control.”

“And as we don’t know much about Bajoran shop owners, we offered to simply man the station whilst she puts the universe to rights,” O’Brien said politely.

“It _is_ unusually quiet up here, sir,” Worf said.

“We were thinking of asking Morn up here to give us another reading of a poem,” Dax put in.

“I _still_ don’t believe you - no-one could talk as much as you say he does,” O’Brien said.

Sisko looked at him in surprise. “Morn? It’s like he never _stops_ talking. That man could send even Quark to sleep if you hit on the right subject.”

Dax looked over at O’Brien. “I win. You owe me a raktajino.”

O’Brien tutted at her, but Sisko offered them both something of a smile before reading the day’s lack of adventures on the large information screen that was pretending to be a table.

Kira slammed a hand on the surround to her comms screen before she jumped up off her stool. “Got him!” she cried. She swung around and then realised Sisko was abroad. She stopped short. “Captain,” she said. “I’ll be in the Security Office.”

“Something I should know about?” he asked. “You know we have Bajoran safety inspectors arriving in three—”

“—In three hours, yes. Don’t worry - I think I know who the dead Bajoran in Quark’s is,” she said. She brandished a small PADD before heading for the turbolift at the other side of the room. Sisko frowned and went back up the steps to his adopted office.

Dax waited until the door was well and truly shut. Then she grinned maddeningly at Worf. “You owe me one klingon opera.”

“He did not specify the time as part of his sentence,” Worf said.

“Oh come on, Worf - he _practically_ did. If Kira hadn’t finished his sentence for him, then—”

“By your own admission, Kira said it, not the Captain,” Worf said smugly. “Therefore you do _not_ win the wager.”

Dax looked at O’Brien. “Chief - please inculcate this man in the ways of a ‘gentleman’s bet’.”

O’Brien put his hands up. “Don’t drag me into this.”

“Right. Well. Just goes to show, doesn’t it?” Dax said, mostly to herself.

“Goes to show what?” Worf asked, confused.

She levelled a distinctly damning look at him. “That I’m more ‘gentleman’ than anyone else in this room.”

Worf opened his mouth. O’Brien cleared his throat - rather noisily. Worf looked over at him. O’Brien shook his head - once. Worf’s mouth closed. It stayed that way.

 

-^-

 

Odo stood by the long counter in the infirmary, watching Bashir and a nurse work over the dead body. “Do you have an identity yet?” he groused.

“No. I _can_ tell you that this gentleman is Bajoran, fifty-two years old, in average good health, and was not normally a drinker of alcohol.” He paused. “I have samples of his teeth, finger-prints, and a retinal scan - I hope that will help you to identify him.”

“You can’t tell who he is?”

“I think I just said that.”

“What was he doing in Quark’s bar?”

“I’m a doctor, not a detective,” Bashir said with a winning smile. “However, I would say drinking. There were no signs of a struggle, he had eaten a few hours before at the klingon restaurant, and there’s nothing out of the ordinary on his corpse to suggest anything other than he sat right down and consumed more than twenty-four standard units of alcohol in less than four hours. He quite simply drank himself to death.”

Kira rounded the corner of the room and stopped dead, a PADD in her hand. “Odo,” she nodded. “Doctor.”

“Ah, Major,” Bashir smiled. “Perhaps you can explain to Odo here that, while I am pretty good at medicine, I’m not much cop at guessing people’s identities.”

Kira raised the PADD. “I know who he is.”

“You do?” Odo asked, surprised.

“I started with Bonaam Faleek, the shop owner. I’ve traced back how she got the shop.” She offered the PADD to Odo. “Here.”

He ran a thumb over the screen, then tabbed down and began to read. “Hmm… She began her lease four years and eight months before the robbery… She regularly imported from one hundred to three hundred rolls of silk each month, from a place on Bajor, with no problems with customs or delivery, right up until a week ago… The usual ship docked at the station and delivered the normal amount of materials as requested. We have a shipping manifest and confirmed delivery dates.”

“The shop itself stood empty for around eight weeks before she leased it,” Kira said, looking over the top of the PADD and pointing to the relevant part of the text. “For the last six years it’s been owned by a Conasa Jolim - our dead body, there. Not much on him except image identification and some rental arrangements - and that he bought the property from Jarrek Pannat. We have no information on _her_ other than she’s Cardassian.”

“The station was fresh out of Cardassian occupied hands around that time. That wouldn’t be unusual,” Odo mused.

“Does it say why she left?” Bashir asked.

“No,” Odo mused. “Only that she boarded a ship and never came back.”

Kira snorted without amusement. “She left because Cardassia had begun withdrawing from their occupation, and the station was about to be overrun by angry Bajoran slaves - who would have murdered her in her sleep and not even cared about covering it up.”

Bashir cleared his throat quietly and turned back to the dead body, drawing a white sheet over it and nodding to the nurse. He began to collect up the medical instruments.

“So… Bonaam Faleek’s shop is broken into, and then the landlord kills himself by over-drinking,” Odo said to himself.

“Or was it someone trying to get him drunk to make him spill his secrets?” Bashir asked with a mischievous grin.

Kira and Odo looked at each - just looked.

Bashir chuckled, turning to the white sheet behind him. His smile fell. “Well, I’m sorry, my unlucky friend, but you’re going to have to wait for these detectives here to work it all out.” He stepped back to allow the nurse to take instruments away from the table. “If there’s anything else I can do in the meantime, let me know. Oh - I’m particularly good at obfuscating rough edges, Major.”

Kira raised her eyebrows at him, but he simply bowed out and took himself over to the other side of the infirmary. Kira shook her head and looked back at Odo. “So where does this get us? The man drank himself to death - so what?”

Odo folded his arms, but one hand came up to rest on his chin. “I’m not so sure it’s that easy,” he said. “What if Doctor Bashir is right? What if someone wanted something from this Conasa; when he couldn’t find it in the shop, he tried to get it out of Conasa outright.”

“What could he possibly want that would be so important?” Kira asked.

Odo look down at the PADD. “That is something we may have to piece together from Conasa’s history.”

“I’ll… see what I can dig up,” Kira nodded.

“Appreciated.”

She turned and walked out, leaving Odo to glare at the white sheet on the biobed.

 

-^-

 

Dax turned from the replicator, making her way across the replimat to just about the only uninhabited table. As she sat and tossed her hair over her shoulder, she spotted Kira striding past the open side.

“Kira!” she called.

The Major faltered, then looked over. “Just the person I need,” she said, politely dodging through people to get to the replimat, and then Dax’s table. “Can you—.” Her question died as she noticed the shiny line of silver atop Dax’s head. “I see you’re still keeping that hair pin warm until we find the owner.”

Dax grinned. “It’s so beautiful - it’d be a shame not to use it,” she said. “Besides, what if the real owner sees it and recognises it? Then we don’t have to look so hard - they’ll come to me.”

“Sometimes the way your mind works scares me,” Kira said.

“Get yourself a chair,” Dax grinned.

Kira pulled out a seat and sat opposite her. “Can you trace some leases for me?”

“Of course. Is this about the mystery suicide in Quark’s last night?” Dax asked, sipping from her steaming mug.

“Well, Bashir’s got me thinking… What if it’s not a suicide?”

Dax smiled. “Julian has a very active imagination. I think it’s from looking over boring test results all day.”

“But what if he’s right? He thinks someone deliberately got Conasa drunk, to try to get answers out of him.”

“Well what could they want?” Dax asked.

Kira planted her elbows on the table to throw her hands up. “I have no idea. I’ve been through Conasa’s history, and Bonaam’s, and I can’t find anything odd about them. Bonaam was in a concentration camp on Bajor until she was spotted by a Gul and taken back to Cardassia as a comfort woman. She was liberated by a resistance cell three months before the Cardassians withdrew. Conasa was just a merchant here on the station - they aren’t connected to each other, except she leased a shop from him - and they don’t have any connections to anyone significant.”

Dax’s head tilted. “Well maybe Julian _is_ right. Maybe it’s all a huge conspiracy.”

“Like what?”

The Trill sipped her raktajino. “What if… Bonaam Faleek simply wants to own the bar outright. Who gets Conasa’a estate if he dies? And why a suicide and not murder? If she gets the shop, I’d wager it’s her.”

Kira sat back. “Good point.” She looked around the replimat. “Maybe she staged the break-in to make it look like she was a target too, then when Conasa died it didn’t look so out of the ordinary - and would make us think she’s just an innocent victim.”

“That would work,” Dax nodded.

“It still doesn’t tell us why - the shop’s not even that valuable, even as real estate. What else is there? Silk? Shipping manifests? Savings? A secret latinum cache?” She ran her hands over her face. “Perhaps I’m just chasing shadows and there really isn’t anything happening here at all. Just an attempt at theft and a poor lost soul.”

Dax shrugged. “If I were you, I’d be more worried about those Bajoran inspectors arriving in…” She looked up at the large chronometer by one of the replicators, “… ooh, an hour? By the way, aren’t you supposed to be meeting them at the airlock? Hope you’ve got your dress uniform ready.”

“I’m not wearing that,” Kira grumped. “It’s uncomfortable, it’s ugly, and I’m too busy - I’ve never read such a boring document as their itinerary in all my life.”

Dax grinned. “Well I for one am looking forward to seeing what they’re really here for.”

“What they’re ‘really’ here for?”

“Oh Kira - who spends three days on a station just going through safety regulations? They must be here for something more fun than that - and I intend to find out what. With their background, I’m sure that whatever it is, I’ve never done anything like it in _my_ life.”

“How many of ‘you’ are we talking?” Kira teased.

“ _All_ of the ‘me’s,” Dax grinned.

“You’ve been very lucky,” Kira said. She got up slowly. “I’ll get back to Ops. I’ll comm you the leases if you wouldn’t mind getting to work on them.”

“Leave it with me. I’ll have it all unravelled before the inspectors arrive.”

“Thanks.” Kira nodded and walked off.

Dax let her head tilt, thought about the day so far, and then the promise of the evening’s events. She grinned, shook her head, and moved to get up.

—Until a waiter smacked straight into her elbow. The cup in her hand flipped up and then went for the floor in a big way. The remainder of her raktajino, such as it was, went over the table and some of the grating.

“How clumsy!” the younger man blurted, grabbing her arm to bolster them both. “I’m so sorry!”

“No harm done,” she said. “I didn’t even get any on my uniform.”

“Oh - forgive me,” he said. He let go of her arm. “I’m so sorry.”

“Really, it’s ok,” Dax said. She crouched and picked up the fallen mug. She stood again to hand it to him. “I should help you clean this up.”

“Oh no, please,” he said quickly. He shooed his hands at her, urging her back. “This is my job. Let me.”

“If you’re sure,” she said.

“Oh yes. I must clean this. Again, I am so sorry to trouble you.”

“Again - it’s _ok_ ,” she said earnestly. “Thanks for clearing it up, though.”

He flapped a small white cloth at her, motioning her back. “Please, let me get this. You must be very busy.”

“Well… thanks again,” she managed, before she was summarily ejected from the replimat. She watched him for a long moment. Then she shrugged to herself, turning, and walked from the entrance, her hair swishing behind her.

The waiter quickly wiped at the surface of the table, preventing any more drink from dripping to the grating. As he stepped back and waved his cloth at the other waiter on duty, his free hand went into his trouser pocket. He backed up further to allow the other man to begin cleaning the floor of cooling klingon coffee. He stole backwards until he was almost through the door to the storage cupboard. He cast a hurried eye around him, then let the door swallow him up.

Once inside he fished a small electronic device from his pocket. He switched it on and immediately ran up and down the long, shiny hair pin in his other hand. A few lights down the side of the device came on, then turned green. He grinned. He turned the device over and pressed at a few buttons. “I have it. Yes, it’s genuine. No, it wasn’t in the shop at all - Conasa didn’t even have it. Some Trill had it in her hair, would you believe. Imagine being so careless with it!” He paused to listen. “I’ll be there. You just get my money ready.”

And then he turned off the device, slotted both items back into his pockets, and slid back out of the storage cupboard.

 

-^-

 

Sisko looked around at his ensemble, noticing Worf straighten even further. Kira, her hands behind her back and a slightly dour frown on her face, stood between the two men. The airlock door suddenly cycled and began to open up, letting the sounds of low voices flood out to the corridor.

A woman came first, lifting long, gloriously shiny skirts over the steps. Her short brown hair was adorned over each ear with matching shiny threads woven through to meet around the back, her older face amused as she took in the people watching her. Sisko moved up to the last step immediately, putting a hand up. She smiled and grasped his fingers, negotiating her way down to corridor level.

“Well, thank you, I’m sure,” she said. “You must be Captain Sisko.”

“I am, Madam Inspector Raffik,” he said politely, letting go of her to step back cautiously.

“Oh, pssh. Call me Ikkal,” she said. She turned to see one more person step through the airlock opening. “My colleague: Poraal Torruna,” she announced.

Another newcomer, dressed rather more conservatively in dark colours and a modest skirt suit, nodded to Sisko and then Kira, and Worf. Younger and abruptly less colourful, she gave off an air of nervousness.

“Welcome to Deep Space Nine,” Sisko smiled. “I understand you have a lot to do in a short time. We’re here to help you in any way we can.”

“Well, any help from the Emissary would be greatly appreciated,” Raffik smiled.

Poraal, the shortest person there by far, stepped forward. “Forgive me - but you are Major Kira, are you not?” she asked quietly.

Kira smiled. “I am. If there’s anything you need, please ask.”

“Actually, I believe you need something of me,” she said with obvious trepidation.

Kira glanced at Sisko, then up at Worf. “I don’t understand.”

Poraal turned back to the airlock and hopped up the steps. She hefted a black box with both hands. Worf gave a start and hurried up after her, offering to take the apparent luggage. She clutched the box to her in apparent fright. “I’m so sorry,” she said timidly. “But you mustn’t. Sorry. —Thank you.”

Worf stepped back. “I did not wish to offend.”

“Oh you didn’t,” Raffik said. “But you, Poraal - you should take more care of that.”

Poraal simply stepped carefully over the exit again and thrust the box at Kira. “It’s for you. —I mean, the station, the people,” she said quickly, shyly. “I - uh - read about you. I think you can look after it. And it should be here.”

“Well… ok,” Kira said. She put her hands out for it.

“Be warned,” Raffik said. “Once you take it, you can never give it away. It must stay here indefinitely.”

Kira frowned. She took it in both hands, noticing it was not as heavy as it had looked in little Poraal’s clutches. She began to tackle a side door on the apparent strongbox.

“No!” Poraal said. “Major Kira, it must go straight to the shrine.”

Kira frowned in confusion. She kept her voice low. “What _is_ this?”

Poraal looked around them as if expecting spies to be everywhere. “It is a gift from the Prophets.”

Sisko put a hand over his mouth, dragging it down in surprise. “Is this an orb?” he asked.

“Yes.” Poraal focused on Kira. “You were the only one to bring it to. Now you must protect it. It misses you.”

“Wha—. How?” Kira asked. Nevertheless, both hands squeezed at the box lest she drop it.

“It said so. It said you had conversed before. It knows it can trust you,” Poraal said with a small smile.

Kira looked at Sisko, then over at Worf, in the airlock entrance. Her eyes went back down to the box. “Well… ok then,” she said lamely.

Sisko put his hands behind his back. “Well. Commander Worf - please be Major Kira’s security detail. Take that to the monks in the shrine and do not stop for anything - or any _one_ ,” he said.

“It will arrive safely,” Worf announced, inclining his head. The two women watched Worf take up a defensive position behind Kira. She turned to Poraal first, then Raffik.

“ _Thank_ you,” she said, still lost. “Thank you for bringing this here.”

“We can talk later,” Poraal said. “Please see to its safety first.”

“I will protect it,” Kira promised. She acknowledge them all and walked off at a fast pace.

“Madam Inspectors,” Worf said, nodding to each in turn. He took off after Kira.

Sisko felt a hand go round his arm, and then he was turned to look at Raffik. “Now then,” she said. “We have a lot to prepare before tomorrow’s inspection.”

“Whatever we can do to help,” he said. He waved a hand out and Poraal fell into step beside him. He kept pace with her, Raffik still on his arm. “If you don’t mind me saying, I was expecting someone older. The last inspector was nearly two hundred years old.”

“Ah, yes, well,” Raffik said with a grin, “not _all_ of us inspectors are old fuddy-duddies. Some of us actually socialise either side of work.”

“I see,” he managed.

“I’m told there’s an exciting establishment here called ‘Quark’s.”

“How did you hear about that?”

“Advertisement, on the shuttle over,” she said. “You have to admire the Ferengi spirit of can-do.”

“I can try,” he said politely.

 

-^-

 

Bashir looked at the screen, watching the tiny circles and lines bisect and dance, then re-arrange themselves into more complex scientific patterns. He reached out to the cup of Tarkalean tea on the console by his favourite seat in the Infirmary, lifting it to his nose. He drew in a deep, satisfying breath and let it out, his gaze going over the surface of the liquid to give some indication as to its temperature. As he watched the tiny flips and trampolines of steam curl upwards from the rim, he decided to throw all caution to the wind. Today was a day for bold gestures, big feats, amazing acts of derring-do. He grinned and sipped at the hot cup with defiance.

It burnt his lip but only for a second. Then the familiar soothing feel of the tea from a world he’d never even been to began to work its magic, and he found his entire mouth falling in love with him and promising to forgive all previous infractions if it could only have more tea.

He grinned and obliged. Again the drink warmed and soothed, cleansed and excited. He was about to bury his nose in the mug and not come out until morning when a rude beep interrupted him. His chin went up quickly and he read the screen above his station.

“No,” he breathed, his head giving a little shake of disbelief. Then he put down his mug - giving it one last, lingering look - and tabbed the comm badge on his uniform. “Bashir to Odo.”

There was a brief pause. Then:

“Odo here. What is it, Doctor?”

“I’ve just finished a rather complex molecular break-down of the alcohol left in Mr Conasa’s system.”

“And? What did you find?”

“He definitely died of alcohol poisoning,” Bashir said. “Except something was added to a few of his drinks _before_ he died. Something that would have caused him to drink well beyond his limit - and something that does not exist in nature, and has no business being anywhere near a drinking establishment.”

“You’re saying someone put something in his drink to make him kill himself with more,” Odo grunted.

“That’s _exactly_ what I’m saying,” Bashir nodded, to thin air.

“Are you sure, Doctor?”

Bashir sighed. “This is a clear case of murder.”

 

 


	3. THREE

 

T’Pol sighed. “This is a clear case of murder.”

“What’d you say?” came a muffled shout from the entrance to the access tunnel by her feet.

The Vulcan glanced around Engineering, noticed the skeleton crew were busy doing much more important things than watching her, and crouched to look down the shaft. She was rewarded with the sight of two blue Starfleet uniforms. They were covering the posteriors of two male humans as they waved at her from around six feet down the tunnel.

“I said, this is a clear case of murder,” she called at them.

The two rear ends moved off further down the tunnel, turning a bend. There was a low voice and an answering mutter, before she heard scuffling, cursing, and phaser fire.

“Commander! Lieutenant!” she called, without a trace of the irritation that might otherwise have made itself evident.

More movement, shuffling, and then two differing sounds of… laughter.

“It’s ok, T’Pol - we got ’em,” came a shout.

She straightened up and stood back. A few moments later she heard grunting and shuffling, and two blue uniforms unfolded themselves from the small space to stand in front of her.

She looked the two men up and down. “It appears you have very lax protocols regarding the cleaning of the service crawl-ways,” she said with a raised eyebrow.

Lieutenant Reed and Commander Tucker surveyed their uniforms, finding patches of grease, dust, and a few spots of something that they really did not want to analyse too closely.

Tucker lifted his right hand. T’Pol took a wary step back so fast that Tucker flinched. “Wait - it’s dead,” he grinned.

His fist was clamped around a thick tail not unlike that of an Earth rat. The body, nearly eighteen inches long and covered in some kind of matted, red fur, had two rows of six stunted legs sticking out at odd intervals down its side.

“What is it?” she asked, remarkably calmly.

“Damned if I know,” Tucker shrugged. He looked at Reed. “At least we know how to kill it.”

“Perhaps we should take it to Phlox, see if he can tell us what it is,” Reed said.

Tucker held it out to him. “You take it.”

“Me?” Reed asked, his hands up in refusal. “ _You_ shot it.”

“Exactly - _I_ shot it. Now you can do the rest and take it to Phlox. We might have more of these things, chewing on stuff they ain’t supposed to. We need a way to reliably find them without having to send more crewmen down those tiny crawl spaces.” He pushed it at him.

Reed took it - but held it at arm’s length. “Fine. But you can explain to the Captain why we’re covered in this muck.”

“That’s a trade-off I’ll happily make,” he grinned.

Reed tilted the creature to and fro, peering at it. “You know, just once I’d like to meet a few more aliens who aren’t trying to kill us, eat us, or steal our food.” He stalked off across Engineering, the offending item still clutched in his greasy hands.

T’Pol turned to watch him leave. Then she swayed back to the Chief Engineer. “How much damage did it cause?” she asked.

Tucker put his hands on the hips of his dusty uniform. “I’m going to need some help finding out how far the chewing goes. It looks like an EPS conduit in there had its base boards munched on.”

“If it had managed to get past them, that would have caused power problems across the ship,” she realised.

“Yeah, so… I’d better get a proper flashlight and some tools.” He wiped his hands together as he turned to go.

“Commander.” She grasped the uniform over his wrist suddenly, with strength he had forgotten she possessed. He looked down at her grip. She turned it, bringing his left wrist higher. Blood seeped from the heel of his hand. “You are injured,” she observed.

“Damn thing ran past me and I smacked straight into Malcolm. We bounced off walls, grating - everything,” he said, somewhat sheepishly. “Musta cut myself on the way down.”

She released his wrist. “You should let Phlox check it.”

“It’s a scratch,” he said, waving her off as he turned.

“And what if it’s not?” she asked, with ice.

He paused. The sudden chill to that corner of Engineering made the hair on the back of his neck want to stand on end. He ran his bottom lip through his teeth, keeping his eyes safely on the decking a few yards in front of him. “We’ve been over this,” he said quietly. He turned back to her and glanced around to make sure no crew members were nearby. “There’s no hidden thing wrong with me - nothing is going to develop into some huge health crisis that will kill me - or anyone on this ship.” He paused to catch her eye. “I’m _ok_.”

She nodded, rather uneasily. Then she stepped back. “It has been six months. It is illogical to still experience… paranoia. To… expect some kind of… repeat tragedy.”

Tucker began to reach a hand out. Then he paused and made it drop. “She was our daughter, T’Pol. It may not be logical, but it _is_ understandable.”

She studied his face, but all she found was a familiar expression she had seen all too frequently in recent months - the earnest wish for everything to be alright. She straightened her back and went to walk past him. “I shall return to the bridge. You will go to see Doctor Phlox.”

He opened his mouth to protest but she halted mid-stride. The way she hesitated, her eyes finding his hand then looking away deliberately, made him close his mouth. She walked off across Engineering.

He shook his head, ran his clean hand through his hair, and crossed the room to his desk.

For approximately twenty seconds.

Then he huffed and left his station, making his way to Sickbay.

 

-^-

 

Captain Archer sat back in his chair, reading the report on the data PADD in his hand. No matter how many times he went over it, his eyes balked at the figure stated. “Fifty-two light years,” he mused.

“Sir?” Ensign Hoshi Sato asked from her station.

He looked up. “Just… thinking,” he admitted. “So far from home.”

“You still think of Earth as home, sir?” she teased.

Archer smiled and got up, wandering across the bridge of _Enterprise_. He paused by her station. “Don’t you?”

“I guess I do,” she realised. “But calling it home and wanting to _be_ home are two very different things.”

“Captain,” came a voice from the other side of the bridge.

Archer turned to see Lieutenant Reed perched on the edge of his chair as if it burnt. He decided to ignore the fact that he still hadn’t had a straight answer from his security man as to why he looked like he’d been dragged through a hedge backwards - if that hedge had been made of greasy metal and carbon build-up. “Lieutenant?” he asked.

Reed was still watching his own hands on the console. “Captain, there’s some kind of disturbance, roughly two hundred thousand kilometres ahead.”

Archer went straight back to his chair. “What kind of disturbance?”

“I don’t know, sir. I’d appreciate help from the Science division, to be honest,” Reed said.

Archer pressed a button on his chair arm. “Archer to T’Pol.”

The door to the turbo lift slid open and T’Pol emerged. “Captain.”

“Nice timing,” he allowed. “We have something for you to look at - two hundred thousand kilometres away. What do you make of it?”

T’Pol took her seat at the science station, running her fingers and eyes over the read-outs. She tilted her head. “It is… curious, Captain. It appears to be a charged plasma field - natural in origin.”

“Can we go around it?” he asked.

“We can go through it - it is not sufficiently powerful to cause us damage. Our hull plating will be more than enough to fend off the effects of the ion storms.”

“Ion storms?” he echoed. “Are you sure it’s safe?”

She looked up at him across the room. “Eighty-two percent sure, Captain.”

He nodded. “Good enough for me.” He looked at the helmsman in front of him. “Mister Mayweather - keep us on course. But take us around any major bumps, please.”

“Yes sir,” Ensign Travis Mayweather said eagerly. He adjusted speed and control, preferring to use a more hands-on approach to avoiding trouble.

The ship canted to one side as if listing, but Archer resisted the temptation to irk the pilot about any method he may have in his madness. _Enterprise_ simply sailed ahead, and very soon they felt a trembling through the deck plating. Flashes of bright light of all colours began to assault the viewscreen. Whilst Archer, Sato and Reed stared in innocent fascination at the sheer brilliance of the kaleidoscope, T’Pol averted her eyes, blinking as if trying to focus.

A beep sounded from his chair, prompting the Captain to press the requisite button. “Archer here.”

“Captain? Would you mind telling me why the entire ship feels like it’s made of jello?” came the annoyed voice of Commander Tucker.

Archer smiled. “A little turbulence, Trip. We’ll be through it soon.”

“Yeah? Well the light show is something else. You might want to lower the blinds a little up there. Some non-humans are more sensitive to it than us.”

Archer let his gaze slip toward the only non-human on the bridge. Then he looked down at the button. “Good thinking, Commander.” He pressed the button and then looked over at Reed. “‘Blinds’, please.”

Reed looked torn, obviously appreciating the vibrant display cascading across the viewscreen in bursts of almost psychedelic light. However, one quick glance at the Vulcan and he skipped his fingertips over the controls. Slowly, a steel-grey wall lowered itself in front of the window. T’Pol unclenched her jaw and opened her eyes fully, although she kept them directed at the controls.

Archer nodded to Reed, who sat a little easier. Eventually he cleared his throat. “We’re nearly through, sir. A few more minutes.”

“Will the ride get smoother?” Archer asked T’Pol.

She did not look up. “Undoubtedly,” she allowed. “The spectrum of lights should also have abated.”

Archer considered her for a moment, then went back to Reed. “Open the curtains please, Malcolm,” he said with a smile.

Reed pressed at his terminal and the steel-grey safety barrier drew up slowly as if waiting for applause. The view was again dark, populated by far-away stars and the picturesque swirls of nebula gases.

A beep echoed from Archer’s chair. His thumb jabbed into the button. “Archer.”

“Captain?” came Tucker’s voice. “I don’t know what just happened, but we just lost the port nacelle.”

“What?” he demanded. He looked over at T’Pol. “I thought this was relatively safe?”

“It was,” she said. She lifted her chin to appraise thin air. “Commander - do you have a report on the problem?”

“Looks like something in that storm has interfered with the injection system,” Tucker said irritably. “The entire port side is dead. Once we figure out what went wrong, I can give you an estimate on repair time.”

“Understood,” she allowed.

“Get to it, Trip. Let us know,” Archer said.

“I’ll need scanners on the bridge,” he grumbled. “I’m on my way up.”

Archer pressed the button again, then shook his head.

“I take responsibility for this, Captain,” T’Pol said. “Apparently my eighty-two percent reassurance was inaccurate.”

“These things happen,” he said. “This is why we’re out here.” He looked up and his breath caught in his throat at the stunning views hanging outside the viewscreen. He stood slowly and went up to the side of Mayweather’s station to appreciate the colours and size. “Where _are_ we?”

“According to the Vulcan star charts, we are somewhere called the Denorios Belt,” T’Pol said coolly. “It is claimed to be a hazard to local ships.”

“ _Local_ ships?” Archer asked. “Who lives out here?”

“Searching,” T’Pol said.

Archer just stared, then realised he was being watched. He looked down at Mayweather. “I suppose this is normal for you, Travis, what with growing up in space.”

“You never get used to it, sir,” Mayweather grinned.

“Sir - I’m reading something else,” Reed said.

“Another ion storm?” Archer asked.

“Not unless it’s at one very specific location and produces elevated neutrino readings.” He tapped a few more buttons. “It could be a weapon, sir.”

Archer’s face grew cold. He looked back out of the window, then went back to his chair. “Where is this specific location?”

“If it is a weapon we could be out of range - it’s nearly a hundred and fifty thousand kilometres away,” Reed said. “But I wouldn’t like to chance it, sir.”

“Take us to it, Lieutenant,” Archer said.

“Sir?” Reed asked, surprised.

“If it _is_ a weapon, we want to know before we get within range - keep trying to isolate what it is exactly before it shoots at us please, Lieutenant. If it’s not a weapon… then we take some readings and find out what we’re dealing with.”

“Aye sir,” Reed said, rather uncomfortably.

“Give us a heading, Mister Reed.”

Reed checked a few read-outs on his console. “Sent to the helm, sir.”

“Got it,” Mayweather nodded.

The ship gently wheeled about to the left and carried on, but if it felt slow to Archer he made sure he didn’t show it. “How far?” he asked.

Reed didn’t look up. “One hundred thousand kilometres.” He sniffed quietly to himself. The silence on the bridge was deafening. “Fifty thousand.” He glanced up at Archer. “We’re getting awfully close, sir.”

“Anything?” Archer asked T’Pol.

Bent over her console, she didn’t even straighten up. “No signs of life or automated entities. There is simply nothing physical in that area of space. However, the disturbance is increasing. It is emitting extreme levels of elevated neutrinos.”

Archer stood up. “Scientific analysis: what could it be if not a weapon?”

T’Pol shook her head slightly. “There is no precedent from which to draw a conclusion, Captain. I would suggest keeping our distance from it before—”

In the centre of the viewscreen, a bright blue hole burst into being. Sato gasped in surprise. A distinct ‘ _whoa!_ ’ emanated from Mayweather, whereas Reed and T’Pol simply narrowed their eyes at it in something akin to suspicion.

Archer stared - and stared. The black hole-like mass of blue was swirling and churning, getting larger with every second. “Travis,” he managed. “Dead stop.”

“Dead stop, aye sir,” Mayweather muttered. Then he hastily looked at his hands and made it so.

“Keep us out of that thing, Travis - we don’t want to fall in,” Archer added.

“Aye sir.”

There was a beep and Archer stumbled backwards to his chair. He pressed the button on the arm. “Archer.”

“Are you _seein’_ this?” Tucker demanded, but whether it was a awe or fear in his voice was a close-run thing. “What the hell is _this_ , now?”

“I believe humans refer to them as Einstein-Rosen bridges,” T’Pol said suddenly.

“A wormhole?” was Tucker’s reply. “Are you kidding me? A real one?”

“Captain - we _definitely_ don’t want to fall in,” Reed said quickly. “We have no idea where the other end is.”

“Lieutenant Reed is correct,” T’Pol said. “There is not a single wormhole listed in the Vulcan database that is stable. Should we survive the trip through it, and whatever lies beyond, there is no guarantee that we would arrive at this point in space - or indeed time - if we attempted to return.”

The turbolift door opened and Tucker appeared. He paused by the science station, staring, his mouth slightly open in overwhelming awe. T’Pol looked up and almost did a double-take as he displayed all the wonder of a small child.

Archer nodded at Reed. “Understood.” He looked at the back of Mayweather’s shoulder. “Back us up, Ensign. Keep us well out of range.”

“Aye, sir. Although… it’s not pulling us in, sir. I was expecting to have to keep us in slight ‘reverse’, but I’m just keeping us from drifting,” he said.

“Well that’s some good news.” Archer walked around the helm and stood right in front of the viewscreen. “It’s magnificent.”

“It is an impressive amalgamation of particles, former stars and dark matter,” T’Pol said matter-of-factly.

Sato smiled, but Tucker took a step forward. “Damn. I was just gonna say… that is one hell of a beautiful mash-up of star stuff.”

Reed smiled to himself. “Is that an Engineering term, Commander?”

But Tucker didn’t hear him. Neither did Archer, Mayweather, or Sato. In fact it was only T’Pol who looked across the bridge at him. She raised an eyebrow. Reed smiled back.

Abruptly the gargantuan eye closed, as swiftly as it had opened. The bridge crew snapped out of their awe and looked around at each other.

“Now what?” Tucker dared.

“Scan the area for other ships,” Archer said warily. “Wreckage of vessels, warped hulls, ships out of their time, _that_ kind of thing. We’re down an entire warp nacelle - we’re in no shape to jump in there.” He turned to T’Pol. “Commander?”

“I shall initiate a scan,” she nodded.

He nodded to himself, then stared out at the now rather dark star field. “And keep your eyes open.”

 

-^-

 

“And keep your eyes open,” Kira said over her shoulder. “I don’t want any surprises.”

Worf grunted in agreement, his gaze already directed at everyone to-ing and fro-ing around them.

The Bajoran shrine dominated the entire promenade of the space station - or at least, it did for Kira. As she and Worf walked briskly down the main public thoroughfare, people of all races and clothing stopped to look. While the two officers were so disparate in nature and upbringing, their gait as they ploughed ahead toward the shrine was a match in terms of determination and a promise of pain should anyone get in their way.

Kira paused at the steps, then looked at the box in her hands.

“I shall wait here,” Worf said.

She looked up at him. “No… I want you to follow this box, please.”

“Understood, Major.” He waited for her to disappear up the steps and bend to the left, entering the shrine. He did a quick check of everyone around, issuing suitably deterrent stares to anyone brazen enough to be watching out of sheer curiosity. Satisfied the watchers were simply wondering why a klingon would be entering the Bajoran shrine, he backed up the steps, watching the promenade even as he too entered the holy place.

As he stole around the corner - still half expecting someone to jump him from a hiding place - he found Kira carrying the box toward a monk by some kind of display area. He heard them talking, the monk becoming excited, then grateful, then simply full of ecstatic joy. Worf watched the entrance, checked the corners, eyed the ceiling bulkheads. Then he repeated the checks before paying more attention to what was happening behind him.

“Thank you, vedek,” Kira was saying with a wide grin.

The monk, a shorter, even slighter man with a friendly smile and crooked ears, put both hands out and captured Kira’s. “It is an honour, Nerys,” he said, inclining his head. “The Prophets have smiled on us again. And you have had such… difficult times. I hope this signals a turning point in your happiness, as it does all Bajorans on the station.”

She smiled and they let their hands drop. “Me too, vedek.”

Worf stiffened as he heard a noise. He moved to be between the door and the two people, his hands out ready to grab the first hidden weapon from his uniform. “Halt and be identified!” he warned the sound of feet.

A tiny squeak of fear was followed by silence. Worf took a step forward but Kira grabbed his arm. She kept him still. He stepped back as she went around in front of him, moving silently out of sight to the door.

“Poraal?” she asked.

Worf relaxed as Kira came back into the shrine, the petite Bajoran accompanying her.

“Sorry,” Poraal managed, her face white as she tried not to get too close to Worf. “Sorry to disturb you.”

The vedek swam through the people and stopped in front of her. “We have you to thank for bringing us a Tear of the Prophets,” he said. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

Poraal smiled nervously. “I felt I should have asked first. But the orb - it told me to bring it here. It wanted to be here, near the Major.”

“We shall look after it,” the monk said.

Kira stepped back. “Well. We have duties, I’m afraid. But please - stay as long as you like, Inspector Poraal.”

“N-no,” Poraal said quickly. “I mean, I… I would like to talk to you, Major. About the station, about Bajor.”

“Of course,” Kira said, slightly bemused. “Commander Worf, would you like to rejoin Captain Sisko?”

“Do you not wish me to keep guard on the shrine, Major?” he asked, confused.

“No-one will disturb the orb,” the monk said. “We will be fine.” He went back to the small display table and patted the locked strongbox.

Worf nodded to Kira. “Then I shall take my leave, Major. Good day, vedek, Inspector,” he said to each in turn.

Kira nodded as he left, then turned to Poraal. “So. Have you come up from Bajor?” she asked.

“Yes. It is a short shuttle ride but… I’m not good with space travel.”

“I never would have guessed,” Kira said dryly. She stepped back to look past the other Bajoran to the monk. “Thank you, vedek. I’ll be back later.”

“Of course,” he nodded. He turned to the strongbox and picked it up, carrying it into the private recesses of the shrine.

Kira waved a hand out to the entrance and Poraal headed for it. “We have a lot of restaurants on the station - some of them are really good,” Kira said as they walked. “Would you like to try one?”

“I think I’d like to try some klingon coffee,” Poraal said. “But… well. I think it might be a little…”

“Daunting?” Kira smiled. They moved out of the shrine and walked down the steps. “A lot of people think anything klingon is daunting.”

“Do you?” Poraal asked.

“I used to. Then I met some klingons. They’re… an interesting people.”

“I would love to hear about them. Lieutenant Commander Worf is the only one I’ve ever met.”

Kira noticed Worf not too far ahead of them in the crowds of people bustling to and fro. “Commander!” she called.

Worf turned and doubled back, stopping in front of them. “Major. Can I be of assistance after all?”

Kira swayed to look at Poraal, then up at Worf. “My friend the Inspector here says you’re the first klingon she’s ever met. Perhaps you could join us for some refreshment?”

“It would be an honour,” he nodded. Poraal blushed, her eyes wide.

Kira smiled at her. “That’s klingon for ‘sounds good’,” she teased.

“I can highly recommend the klingon restaurant,” he said. “Although it may be a shock to the system if you have never tried klingon food before.”

“I have not,” she said, awed.

“Then I think we should head for the replimat.”

Kira nodded, but something caught her eye. She watched a figure in a concealing hood pass by on the other side of the promenade. As Worf talked cordially with Poraal about different foods available - and the ready supply of prune juice at Quark’s - Kira turned in place to notice how the man weaved through the crowds politely. He swept up the steps to the shrine and she blinked. Shaking her head, she turned back to them. “Sorry - where do we go for food?”

Poraal grinned. “I think I’d like to try the klingon restaurant after all. I hear the coffee is amazing - and the _gagh_.”

“That food, like all the best cuisine, is still alive,” Worf said. “Are you prepared to feel it fighting for freedom as it is wrestled down your throat?”

Poraal paled. “Uh… not really.”

“Then we shall start with something easier,” Worf announced. He came closer and offered his elbow. Poraal looked at Kira, and with a smile that described thrilling excitement, put both hands to his upper arm. Worf began to guide them away from the shrine. Kira kept up, watching the two of them walk, and part of her smiled at the utter incongruousness of size and temperament.

A muffled shout, a familiar _phhhzzz_ cut the air. Kira froze for a second. Then she turned and saw a figure running from the steps of the shrine - carrying a Bajoran phaser and a strongbox.

She didn’t think. “You! Stop!” she hurled in anger.

Worf and Poraal turned. Crowds parted. They began to shout in panic as the shrouded person ran from them.

Kira turned. She snatched Worf’s Starfleet-issue phaser from his hip. He swished Poraal safely behind his outstretched arm. His free hand simultaneously drew a mek’leth from its hiding place beneath the rear of his baldric.

“I said _stop!_ ” Kira raged.

The man sped up. She gave chase. Her arms pumped up and down as she hurtled down the promenade. People shoved and leapt to be out of her way. She pounded after the mystery figure.

The man’s phaser fell from his hand. The next moment the strongbox and a length of something shiny silver dropped to the floor. The figure ran on, a much smaller container in his grip. Kira crossed the promenade and dived through the mess of chairs and surprised diners in the replimat. She lurched out the other side to shoulder-slam the runner.

They both flailed to the floor. People watching scrambled out of the way. Worf swung round the corner and skidded to a halt, his mek’leth arm raised, the blade clenched along his forearm ready for attack. Kira scrabbled for the phaser. She rolled to one side on the carpet and held it on the figure.

He climbed to his feet. As he juggled the now open box upright, the lid fell further back. Orb light arced out every which way. Some gasped and ran. Others stood, mesmerised. Kira trained the phaser on him.

“ _Don’t_ move!” she shouted.

He looked at her, then lifted the box over his head.

“Hey!” she raged. “Don’t do it!”

He began to wheel his arms back higher, ready to smash it down.

Kira fired.

She hit the man square in the chest.

The orb fell. It phased straight through the non-lethal beam of light.

Everything went blue. And then it exploded.

 


	4. FOUR

 

 

Kira was blown sideways. She ended up on her back. Shouts - screams - an immense roaring sound as if time itself were being sucked into the wormhole—

She fought to exist in the lightning storm behind her eyes, fought to understand she was still herself.

A loud buzzing made her aware she not dead.

Something dark and noisy floated around her chaotic field of vision. She stretched a hand up toward it; her fingers morphed and looped as if made of smoke, dipping and flipping in moving waves of fear, anxiety, desperation. The darkness began to encompass everything. She felt herself slipping away, dissipating like mist over a warming river.

Worf knelt over her, feeling for a pulse in her neck. “Major?” he demanded, not for the first time. He looked left as the man struggled to his knees. Worf flipped the mek’leth in his hand. He flung it directly at him. It arced round and round until it sunk itself into the man’s leg. He fell in agony. “Stay down!” Worf snarled. He smacked a hand into his comm badge. “Worf to Doctor Bashir! Medical emergency on the promenade - Major Kira and an unknown assailant.”

“Injuries?” was Bashir’s immediate response.

“The man has a mek’leth wound to the leg. Major Kira’s injury may be neurological.”

“I’m on my way.”

Worf supported Kira’s head. He heard a noise behind him and realised people were beginning to crowd around. “Stay back! All of you!” he shouted.

They all appeared to jump. Worf tapped his comm badge again. “Worf to Odo - Security needed on the promenade. Crowd control and an arrest,” he snapped.

“We’re coming to you,” was Odo’s only response.

Worf kept an eye on the writhing man, currently trying to clutch his leg in pain. Shoes appeared next to Worf’s kneeling position and he looked up at Poraal.

“No!” she gasped. “Is she ok?”

“She will be,” Worf said irritably. “Take care of her.”

He got up and Poraal immediately knelt down, cradling Kira’s head gently. Worf stood and surveyed all the people now trying to get closer to look.

“You _will_ keep your distance!” he warned.

Many people backed up, but no-one left.

Odo pushed his way through, just as a Starfleet uniform appeared from the opposite direction. “Alright! Everyone get back!” Odo called to the crowd. People began to move away slowly. “That’s it - everyone give us space!” He turned and spotted Major Kira flat on her back, accompanied by a tiny Bajoran female. A Starfleet phaser was still in Kira’s grip. “What happened here?” he demanded angrily.

“Major Kira pursued a thief from the Bajoran shrine,” Worf said quickly. “When he did not desist, she fired on him to prevent him from damaging what people are calling an ‘orb’.”

“An orb? Here?” Odo demanded. Whispers started to thread their way through the crowd. “Where is this thief?”

“He,” Worf, backing up to see Bashir and a Bajoran nurse bending over the moaning, whimpering man, “was _not_ going to escape.”

Odo looked down at him. “No,” he said, with some satisfaction. “I don’t suppose he was.”

Worf heard his comm badge beep again. “Worf here.”

“Commander,” came Sisko’s voice. “You’re needed in Ops, please. —Have you seen Major Kira?”

“She is here, Captain.”

“Do either of you have any idea what just happened?”

“Happened, sir?” he asked, confused.

“You didn’t feel that? The entire station rocked, at least twice. Dax thinks it’s some kind of spacial quake. I need all my senior officers in Ops and we can’t raise Major Kira.”

“She is incapacitated, Captain,” Worf said. He turned to look at Bashir, who was running small devices backwards and forwards over her face. “Doctor Bashir is with her now. She chased down a thief. He had the orb.”

“Get up to Ops now, Commander,” Sisko said tersely. “I want a full report.”

Poraal scrambled to her feet and grabbed his arm. “May I go with her? The doctor says they’re taking her to an infirmary.”

“Please,” Worf nodded.

Poraal hurried back to the Starfleet man currently talking to his nurse in low, busy tones. Worf looked at Odo. “Do you require me for anything else, Constable?”

“Oh I think you’ve done a good day’s work here, Commander,” Odo said with a ghost of a smile. “Go to Ops. We’ll take care of this.”

Worf inclined his head and walked off. Odo looked down at Kira for a long moment, and then the stretcher that Bashir and the nurse were loading her onto. Then he turned to the now sedated man, a bloody mek’leth lying by his right leg. Part of his trousers had been bound in bright white bandage.

Odo huffed and turned to his two deputies. “Alright, break this lot up,” he ordered. “I want the promenade cleared. This isn’t a free show.”

The two deputies began to talk to the crowd, their hands out in a plea for help. People began to mutter and disperse, and Odo watched them vacate the excitement so they could go home and gossip about it.

Odo turned to Bashir. “Doctor.”

Bashir paused. “Yes.”

“How is she?”

“That is yet to be determined,” he said, a shadow over his features. “Whatever went through her, it’s significantly affected parts of her brain. Once we’ve got her back to the infirmary I’ll be able to tell you more.”

“Keep me informed, Doctor.”

“Will do.” Bashir nodded to his nurse and they hefted the stretcher up. Two more Starfleet people were shifting the sedated man to another stretcher, and the two injured parties were slowly removed from the scene.

Odo folded his arms to survey everything around him. His eyes narrowed. “One surprise after another.”

 

-^-

 

“One surprise after another,” Reed grumbled. “Sir,” he added much more loudly.

Archer looked over at him. “What is it?”

“I’ve detected a structure, Captain - I swear it wasn’t there a moment ago.”

“Are you sure?” Archer asked, confused.

T’Pol swung her chair around to the far science station, adjusting settings and peering down a periscope-like scanner interface. “Lieutenant Reed is correct, Captain. I am reading some kind of space station.”

“Can you show us?” he asked.

Reed played with his controls and suddenly a rather foreboding-looking structure filled the viewscreen. Archer’s mouth slapped shut in surprise.

“It appears to be of a hybrid planar-columnar tri-radial structure,” T’Pol observed.

“You mean it looks like a cross between a crab and spinning top,” Tucker said, his hands on his hips.

“And you’re sure it wasn’t there before?” Archer asked, ignoring his engineer.

“Positive, Captain,” T’Pol said.

“Did it come out of the wormhole?” Archer asked, confused.

“It appears to be static, sir,” Reed said.

Archer looked at him. “How fast can it move?”

T’Pol looked up. “I do not believe it _did_ come out of the wormhole.”

“What makes you say that?” he asked.

“I am not detecting any engines or propulsion systems necessary to get it to the mouth of the anomaly,” she said coolly.

Archer nodded. “Does it have weapons?”

“Oddly enough, yes,” T’Pol said. “However, they are not armed. Nor is the station attempting to shield itself from attack,” she added. Tucker went around the guardrail and ended up next to her, bending over to see her read-outs.

“Arrogance, perhaps?” Reed asked. “Maybe they don’t recognise this ship as a threat, sir.”

Tucker straightened up suddenly. “Captain - look at this.” He pressed a few buttons and the viewscreen cut to a very magnified shot of one particular part of the station. “Now I’ve seen some crazy things in my time,” he began slowly, “and correct me if I’m wrong, but… ain’t that a Starfleet torpedo launcher on one of them pointy arms?”

Archer and Reed squinted. T’Pol looked down at her screen. Archer turned to consider Reed. “Any idea how a space station fifty-two light years from Earth - and in a part of space never before visited by humans - has Starfleet modifications?”

Reed looked surprised. “I have no idea, Captain. Perhaps they went through that wormhole, popped out the other side, committed piracy on a few passing ships, and took their spoils home with them, sir.”

“That would imply that they have found some way to ensure they always return to the correct time and place,” T’Pol announced.

Archer looked back at the viewscreen. “Are we being hailed?” he asked.

Sato turned her chair slightly to look back at him. “Nothing, Captain.”

“Any traffic, any broadcasts - _anything_ to show there’s somebody home?” he asked.

“Checking.” Sato listened to the receiver she was pressing into her ear. “There is background noise, sir. A lot of messages going out on coded frequencies. Some are going to… perhaps a nearby relay? Some are heading off to… I can’t nail down the frequency, sir. Or the language.”

“Captain,” T’Pol interrupted. “The configuration of this station does not match anything in the Vulcan database. We may be about to make first contact with a new species.”

Archer smiled. “Well it’s about time. And seeing as they have weapons and they’re not powering them up, perhaps we’re about to make contact with a nice, _friendly_ new species.”

“Chance would be a fine thing. It’s right in the middle of space, close to a wormhole that could suck us in and toss us God-knows-where,” Tucker said. “Perhaps they just don’t like visitors.”

The bridge was silent for a long moment.

Archer folded his arms. “The question is - what is it doing way out here?”

 

-^-

“The question is - what is it doing way out here?” Sisko asked.

“No idea,” O’Brien said, his fingers dancing over the Ops board on the station, trying desperately to prise answers from its sensor readings. “It just came out of nowhere. It’s definitely Starfleet, sir. But there’s something odd about its make-up - like it’s made of the wrong metal. And it looks like they’ve lost power to the port nacelle - it looks dead.”

Sisko stared at the image on the viewscreen - the patchwork-looking ship, expertly maintained but obviously well-used, was just floating, apparently watching them from fifty thousand kilometres.

He heard the lift arrive and turned to see Dax skip across Ops to get to her customary seat. She nodded to the Bajoran science officer, who got up immediately and took her mug with her. Dax sat down and looked over her controls. The Trill let her hands trip over the read-outs. “Ok… what have we got here?” she said. She looked up - and did a definite double-take, Sisko noticed. “I know that ship!” she gasped.

“You do? What is it?” O’Brien asked.

“It’s the NX-02 - _Columbia!_ ” she grinned. “Tobin Dax worked on some of her engines, when—.” She stopped dead. Then she looked at Sisko. “Something’s wrong. _Columbia_ was launched over two hundred years ago.”

“That explains the metal,” O’Brien said. “But how can she be here? She can’t still be in service, can she?”

“No,” Dax frowned. She tapped at her controls. “Benjamin,” she said hastily, “if this scan is correct, then that ship is barely _five_ years old.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. And it’s not _Columbia_ ,” she added. She lifted her head to pin him with a warning glare. “It’s the NX-01. It’s _Enterprise_.”

“What?” O’Brien gasped. “But that was Admiral Archer’s first ship!”

Sisko put his hands on his hips. “Did it come out of the wormhole? Or whatever anomaly nearly turned this station upside down just now?”

“There’s just no data to go on yet,” Dax said. She looked up at the viewscreen. “We really should say hello. They’re going to be floating in space, trying to scan us with two hundred year old tech., wondering why we’re not hailing them.”

“Old Man,” Sisko warned.

“We can’t leave them adrift, Captain,” O’Brien said. “They may need help with their port nacelle.”

Sisko pulled at his ear irritably. “They’ve jumped two hundred years into their future - we can’t show them _anything_ that will mess up their time line.”

“But their ship is showing damage, sir,” O’Brien said.

“And they must know we’re here,” Dax put in.

Sisko frowned. “However they’ve got here, they may need our help getting back - _without_ giving them prior knowledge of the future.”

“But we’re so far ahead it would mean nothing to them,” Dax pointed out. “The uniforms alone are bizarre in comparison.”

Sisko walked back to the Ops table. “We have no idea what even the smallest piece of information will do to their timeline.” He put his hands flat on the surface, then looked up at the screen. “But you’re right; they may need help. But _carefully_.” He heard the lift go again and saw Worf stepping onto the grating of Ops. “Commander - we need an update. Make it brief.”

“Captain,” he nodded. “Major Kira and an unknown suspect are in the infirmary. He tried to steal the orb from the Bajoran shrine - Major Kira successfully stopped him. However, he then tried to smash the artefact. In her attempt to stop him, it’s possible Major Kira hit the orb with a phaser set to stun.”

“Bloody hell,” O’Brien muttered.

Dax’s eyes went wide. “Is she ok?”

“Doctor Bashir is determining that now,” Worf said. “However, she is a strong woman; she will recover.”

“I’ll tell her you said that,” Dax smiled.

“Which orb was it?” O’Brien asked. “I thought those things were rare.”

Sisko looked at him. “The inspectors brought it with them - they didn’t say which one.”

“Inspector Poraal was insistent that Kira had seen that particular orb before,” Worf said.

Dax’s head tilted in thought. “Could it be the orb of time? Wasn’t that the one _we_ used to visit the other _Enterprise?_ ”

“That does fit the facts,” Worf nodded.

Sisko wiped both hands over his face. “You know, when I got up this morning, I thought it was going to be easy.”

“That’ll teach you,” Dax quipped. “Orders, Benjamin?”

He straightened up and squared his shoulders. “Hail them, Old Man. But let’s all tread very carefully, people. I do _not_ want another visit from Temporal Investigations.”

“A raktajino says they don’t even guess these are Starfleet uniforms,” Dax said.

 

-^-

 

Sato looked up. “We’re being hailed, sir,” she said. “In English. _Earth_ English.”

“Are you certain?” Archer pressed.

“Yes, sir. The inflection to her voice, the patterns she falls into… She sounds like she learnt English from real humans - or at least listening to them.”

Archer looked at the viewscreen. He brought himself up as tall as he could. Tucker backed up and hovered just shy of the Science Station. He folded his arms to watch with wary fascination. Sato and T’Pol turned their chairs to get a good look at the screen, and even Reed’s precarious perch moved toward it.

“Well then,” Archer said grandly. “Let’s see who’s at home.” He nodded at Sato.

The viewscreen blinked. The bridge crew stared at the image of a man - definitely human - with the air of someone used to giving orders. Imposing, commanding - and very _very_ Earth-like. “I am Benjamin Sisko of the space station Deep Space Nine. You seem to be drifting, Ad—. Captain. Can we offer assistance?”

Archer gazed at him for a moment, undecided. “Captain Jonathan Archer of _Enterprise_ ,” he said slowly. “We were… exploring. We kind of ran into your storm belt, here.”

“That happens,” Sisko allowed.

Tucker pointed suddenly. “Starfleet!” he cried in surprise. Sato jumped. Archer turned and slapped him with a look so damning, Tucker nearly took a step back. He made his hand drop. “That’s a weird kind of Starfleet uniform, Captain, I’d bet my diving helmet on it.”

Archer still glared. Tucker looked at the viewscreen, hoping to sweat the embarrassment away. But Archer swivelled on the balls of his feet to offer a smile to the larger face in front of him. “Your little badge there does match a few swooshes I’ve seen around the ship,” he said politely.

Sisko’s head went down as if he were appraising his feet. Then his eyes swept up again. “Truth, Captain?” he asked wearily.

Archer nodded. “One kind of captain to another, I suspect.”

“This is complicated. We _are_ Starfleet - at least, some of us here on the station.” He paused. “What stardate is it?”

“Stardate?” Archer asked.

Sisko winced. “The year.”

“2155,” Archer said slowly. “Why do I get the feeling you’re going to tell me it’s not the same over there?”

“Perhaps it’d be better if we sat down to discuss this,” Sisko said uneasily.

“It might,” Archer nodded. “Permission to come aboard, Mister Sisko?”

Sisko smiled. “I don’t think that would be a good idea. However, if it’s amenable to you, myself and a few senior officers could come aboard _Enterprise_.”

Archer looked straight at T’Pol. She just raised an eyebrow. Archer turned to go back to his chair, getting in a swift, surreptitious check of Reed’s face. He was nodding slowly, carefully. Archer reached his seat and sat down. “I think… we could accommodate you, Mister Sisko.”

 

-^-

 

Bashir pulled the small silver square from Kira’s forehead, nodding in satisfaction and simply waiting over her. Her eyes creaked open as if all the hangovers in all the worlds had hit her at once.

“Doctor,” she muttered. Her face registered shock. “Where am I - where is _he?_ ” she cried.

Bashir put a hand on her shoulder, weighing her down to the biobed beneath her. “Ah-ah-ah - hold it right there. You’re ok, Major. And your suspect is here too. Seems Worf slowed him down somewhat after you’d got your shot in.”

She appeared to relax. “And the orb?”

“Nowhere to be found, I’m afraid.” He paused. “How do you feel?”

“Like I’ve been hit by a shuttlepod,” she grunted. “What happened?”

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

She paused to think. “Uh… I saw the man running from the shrine - Worf and Inspector Poraal were with me. I took Worf’s phaser and chased him. He was about to smash the orb so I shot him. I think the orb fell - and then it was like a bomb went off.” She rubbed her forehead. “What’s the damage?”

“Nothing at all,” he said happily. “I was worried about neurological interference, but I’ve run the most microscopically advanced scans I can and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with you.”

“That’s a relief,” she breathed.

“It’s fascinating - I wonder if the energy burst from the orb was something other than an actual scientific energy wave. Jadzia’s been trying to figure it out - the shockwave rocked the entire station.”

“Is everyone alright?” Kira demanded, forcing herself to sit up.

“Everyone and everything is fine. I’ve patched up our thieving friend, and he’s currently waiting for Odo and Worf to ask him some very searching questions from inside his holding cell.” He walked away, to his main console.

Kira pushed herself round to let her boots dangle off the side of the biobed. “Am I fit for duty?”

“Physically, yes,” he said, turning back to her. “Everyone else is in Ops - the call went out about twenty minutes ago. Gossip is _rife_ ,” he grinned cheekily.

“About what?” she frowned.

“ _Enterprise_ has arrived - some kind of unplanned visit,” he grinned. “I’d love to see the new 1701-E. I hope Commander Data is still aboard.”

“An Earth ship?”

“ _The_ Earth ship,” Bashir said wisely. “She’s out there, right now. Apparently Sisko wants all senior officers to report to Ops. You and me excepted, of course.”

“He’ll need me,” she said. She threw herself off the bed to her feet and straightened up.

“I can’t stop you leaving,” he sighed, “but the first sign of anything you don’t feel is right, I want you to come straight back here. Understand?”

“Yes, Doctor,” she said wearily. She turned and paced out of the infirmary. Bashir folded his arms and leant back on the console.

A Bajoran nurse came round the corner, carrying a PADD. “Haven’t you heard, Doctor?” she asked.

He took the PADD from her. “Heard what, Tamkara?”

“The ship - it’s not the 1701-E.”

“Really?”

She smiled. “Yovak said that Joryl said that Kinnon said that they heard Commander Dax say it was two hundred years old.”

“You don’t say,” he mused. “Maybe I’ll… see if they need any medical help.”

“Of course, Doctor,” she said with a grin.

Bashir handed her back the PADD and walked out of the infirmary.

 

-^-

 

Sisko looked at the officers around him. Dax, Kira and Worf seemed less than apprehensive about being on a transporter pad. In fact, Dax looked downright eager - something that worried Sisko somewhat. Kira and Worf seemed more interested in adjusting the respective phasers on their hips.

“I still say you won’t need that,” Dax said, nodding to Kira’s firearm.

She rolled her eyes. “And I still say I’m the only one here who isn’t Starfleet. You officers might feel like you’re meeting ancestors - I feel like I’m walking aboard a ghost ship.”

“Alright, people,” Sisko said. “We go in, we find out how we can get them back home, and we leave. Do _not_ give away any information unless it’s necessary.” He received nods all round and looked at O’Brien at the controls. “Send us over.”

“Yes sir. Good luck,” he said.

The familiar feel of the transporter took hold. Within seconds their setting had completely changed, and the dour looking station was replaced with the bright lights and Spartan view of a relatively antique Starfleet transporter pad.

Sisko looked around at his officers. Then he looked beyond the pad.

Four people, plus a fair-haired man at the transporter console, were watching them. Sisko’s eyes went over the familiar form of Admiral Archer - with Captain’s pips on his chest. A Vulcan officer to his right was inspecting them all with interest. The dark-haired man next to her was in the same blue as Archer, trying not to let his hand dangle over the Starfleet phaser on his hip. The woman the other side of Archer appeared to be in some kind of camouflage fatigues - and carrying a rather hefty looking rifle, albeit pointing at the floor for now.

“Captain Archer,” Sisko said. He did not move off the transporter pad.

Archer stepped forward. “Mister Sisko - _Captain_ Sisko,” he said warily. “I hope you don’t take offence. My crew and I are a little… _cautious_ about people who say they’re friends, these days.”

“That’s understandable,” Sisko nodded. “My senior officers - Major Kira,” he said, waving out a hand. “Commander Dax and Commander Worf.”

Archer met the eyes of each person, nodding acknowledgement. Then he looked at his personnel. “ _My_ senior officers - Commander T’Pol, Lieutenant Reed, Sergeant McKenzie, and that’s my chief engineer Commander Tucker at the controls.”

Sisko nodded to each, but Dax was already grinning fit to burst. Sisko glanced at her, shaking his head slightly. She managed to get her grin _down_ to a supernova of a smile. Sisko turned back to Archer. “So, Captain… Where should we begin?”

“In the ward room, I think,” Archer allowed. “I’d like to get to the bottom of what’s happened here.”

“We’re happy to go wherever you want,” Sisko said.

Archer and Reed shared a look, then the Captain waved a hand out to his officers. “Let’s go.”

T’Pol turned and strode away without a word. Tucker was next, and although he did spare the colourful officers a glance, he wasted no time leaving. Archer nodded to McKenzie and she waited patiently as he went for the corridor and the four visitors filed out after him. Reed followed on, leaving her to take up the rear, her rifle ready.

The walk through the ship was quiet - no-one dared make a sound as they navigated the walkways. Eventually they found that T’Pol had already entered a doorway ahead and was waiting to one side beyond the entrance, her hands behind her back. She watched as the stream of people filed in and paused to look around.

The door shut behind them. Archer shared a look with his Vulcan officer before approaching the random group of people. “Please - take a seat,” he said.

Sisko nodded to his staff and they lined up down one side of the long table in the middle of the room. Dax moved to pull out her chair but almost elbowed someone behind her. She half-turned. “Oh! Sorry, Malcolm,” she blurted.

Reed paused. “Have we met, Commander?” he asked in curiosity.

“Yes,” she said. “—Just now, I mean. In the transporter room.”

He frowned at her for a long moment. Then he backed up. “Quite.”

She offered him an embarrassed smile and pulled out her chair. She sat, feeling Sisko’s eyes on her from her left. “Sorry,” she said under her breath. “Force of habit.”

“I don’t want to know,” Sisko breathed back.

Archer and his officers took seats opposite their counterparts, leaving Sergeant McKenzie to watch over the entire table from a safe distance, her weapon stowed. Archer looked across at Sisko, at the right hand end of the table. Major Kira, on Sisko’s right, was dead opposite Tucker. Worf was appraising Reed with polite interest, and Dax and T’Pol, at the left hand end of the table, were busy tilting heads at each other.

“Where do we start?” Archer asked. “We know you’re from Starfleet. What we don’t know is how you got out here before us, and what you’re doing here. And why your uniforms are so radically different.”

“And the elephant in the room,” Tucker said pointedly.

Archer considered him before he looked back at Sisko; they shared a frown of confusion.

T’Pol sat a little straighter, but her head canted slightly toward Tucker. “Commander, this outpost is a very long way from Earth. It would be logical to assume that some, if not most of its staff, are from neighbouring or allied species.”

Sisko put his hands on the table, lacing his fingers. “True. Commanders Dax, Worf and myself are Starfleet. Major Kira is my first officer - an attaché from the locals. We are guests here - this is her territory.”

“And by ‘guests’ do you mean… indentured?” Archer asked.

“Not at all,” Sisko said with a smile. He paused. “You’ve had some pretty bad luck away from Earth, I’m guessing.”

“It’s been hard, I won’t deny it,” Archer said. “How did your station just pop into existence right in front of us?”

“—Because if that’s some kind of shielding tech. you’ve got there I sure wouldn’t mind taking a look at it,” Tucker said hopefully.

“Alright, Trip,” Archer said with half a smile.

Dax sat a little straighter. “Commander Tucker - _Trip_ Tucker.”

“Yes?” he asked, surprised.

“No - _you’re_ Trip Tucker,” she grinned.

“We have already established his identity,” T’Pol remarked. “What is the significance?”

Sisko turned in his seat and glared at Dax. She spread her hands and her mouth worked as she tried to think of something to say.

“Captain Sisko,” Archer said heavily. “I think it’s time you came clean. Commander Dax seems to know some of us, and your uniforms are bizarre to say the least. That station out there is _not_ Starfleet and you have non-humans in your staff like it’s no big thing - some non-humans I’ve never seen before. I wish I could say that I’m comfortable with all of this, but something tells me that it’s come about for a very bad reason. Now could you _please_ explain what’s going on. You have us at a severe disadvantage.”

Sisko let his shoulders sag just a little. “You know… I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this. But we need to get your port nacelle working again as fast as possible - and we need to find out how to get everything back to normal.”

Archer raised his eyebrows at him.

Sisko wiped a hand over his forehead, then began sorting through choice words.

But it was Kira who sat forward. “This is going to be a shock,” she said firmly. “But we’re from your future - two hundred years in your future,” she said. “That’s all we can tell you. If you are who you say you are, then you’ll understand why we didn’t let you come to the station.”

“Major Kira is correct,” Worf said. “We are only here to repair the damage you seem to have, and then we must all leave - without giving away any future events.”

Archer stared at them all in turn. Then he relaxed back in his chair. He looked at Tucker, then back at Sisko. “You’ll forgive us if we don’t believe you.”

Sisko glanced at Dax, then waved a hand out. She thought for a moment, then gave him a tiny nod. She turned back to the table. “Malcolm - your favourite thing to fine-tune weapons on is two hundred pounds of compacted earth, shipped from _Earth_ , and the only way to drink ‘proper’ tea is without dairy products of any kind. Trip - you’re a real Florida boy but you prefer Vulcan because the heat there is dry, not humid, and it makes it harder for your tools to rust.” She looked at T’Pol. “The Commander prefers chamomile tea, but some days she likes the strength of Po Lei - and a certain crew member here ‘appropriates’ her real Earth root ginger from Chef’s stores to put in it,” she said. T’Pol inclined her head in apparent confirmation, whilst Tucker made every effort not to move a single facial muscle. Dax grinned and turned her attention to Archer. “Captain - there’s a squeak under the deck plating in your room and you keep searching for it, but every time you get close someone interrupts you.”

Archer sat still, his mouth hanging slightly open. “How could you know all this? That’s not in official files.”

“Because I know Malcolm,” Dax said. “At least, _former_ me _will_ know Malcolm - a long time from now. And he will talk about his friends.” She looked at Reed with a wicked smile. “After all, good friends _listen_ , Malcolm - especially after a few Romulan ales.”

“Bugger me,” Reed managed.

“Indeed,” said T’Pol.

 


	5. FIVE

 

Archer studied the table between himself and Sisko for a long moment. Eventually he looked up. “We’re no stranger to time travellers, Captain,” he said slowly. “But… usually there’s a nasty reason for it. What is it this time?”

Dax raised her eyebrows, but waited for Sisko to reply. He leant his weight on his forearms, comfortably lying on the table still. “An item was brought to the station. It reacted badly to an energy discharge and some kind of wave rocked the station. The next thing we knew, you were fifty thousand kilometres from us, trying not to drift into the wormhole, one of your nacelles non-functional. Was that due to the wave or was it already damaged?”

“Hey, we’re not cavemen who rub sticks together to go to warp,” Tucker said indignantly. “We were doin’ just fine until we hit those storms. _That’s_ when we lost injection control. We can fix it - we’ve done it before, and we’ll do it again.”

“Believe me - we’re not saying you can’t handle it,” Sisko said. “This is the _Enterprise_.”

“What do you mean by that?” Archer asked, eyes narrowed.

“It has something of a reputation,” Sisko said. “Now, with your permission, Captain, we could help with any repairs you may need - but I’d prefer it if we had as little interaction as possible. We don’t want to give away the future.”

“Agreed,” Archer said with a terse nod. He turned to Tucker. “Have you determined how badly the nacelle is compromised?”

“I have, Captain,” he said shortly. “Engineering team was already on it before I left to meet our guests.”

Archer put a hand up. “Easy, Trip. No-one’s saying you _need_ help. They’re just offering.”

Tucker forced himself to sit back in his chair, something of a petulant frown on his features.

“When’s the last time any of you had shore leave?” Dax asked suddenly.

Archer blinked. “Nearly six months.”

“That’s going to make even a Vulcan cranky - no offence,” she said to T’Pol.

“None taken,” T’Pol said. “A break from the routine and familiar surroundings would be welcome to almost all of the crew.”

“ _Almost_ all?” Dax smiled.

“You would need a substantial grappling device to remove Commander Tucker from Engineering. Everyone else would gladly leave for some recreation time.”

Tucker shot her look, but T’Pol simply gave him a slight jut of the chin. Dax grinned and looked at the table.

The door gave a beep. Archer looked over at McKenzie. She went to the door and pushed at the button to open it, stepping back and to the side to see who was hovering on the threshold.

It was Sato. “Sir?” she asked.

Archer got up. “Excuse me.” He went straight over to her, walking out and letting the door shut behind him.

T’Pol was watching Dax with curiosity. “You are Trill,” she stated.

“What gave it away?” she grinned, tapping her temple and the spots adorning it.

“I have never met a Trill before. However, they are listed in the Vulcan database as a level-headed, if spontaneous, race of people.”

“That just about sums you up,” Kira smiled. She looked at T’Pol. “Are you the only non-human in the senior staff?”

“I am the only non-human, besides the doctor, on board.”

“It’s strange,” Kira said, looking across everyone at Worf. He nodded.

“What is?” Tucker asked.

“Well… most of you are from Earth. I’ve never _seen_ so many of you together in one place before,” Kira said.

“Where are _you_ from?” Tucker asked.

“Not far from here,” she said. She glanced at Sisko. “I think that’s all I can tell you.”

“I believe your race is also listed in the Vulcan database,” T’Pol said. “Ancient, wise, and peaceful to the last.”

Kira opened her mouth, but said nothing.

Reed folded his arms across his chest. “And yet you carry a weapon, Major.”

“As do I,” Worf said. “As does Sergeant McKenzie.”

Reed gave a crafty smile. “You know, it would be interesting to discuss forms of combat with you, Commander. If we’re allowed.”

The door opened again and Archer strode back in. He did not sit. “Captain - we have a problem.”

“What’s that?” Sisko asked warily.

“We have an energy source interfering with ship’s systems. An _alien_ energy source. And it wasn’t there before your crew boarded.”

“Are you suggesting we brought something with us?” Sisko asked. He got to his feet. “Check us again - we don’t have anything.”

“Can I see your weapons, please?” he asked stiffly.

Sisko nodded to Kira and Worf. They slowly removed their respective phasers, putting them on the table in front of them.

“Anything else?” Archer demanded.

Sisko put his hand up slowly and pulled his comm badge from his uniform. “There. That’s all I have with an energy signature.”

Dax, Kira and Worf did the same. They set their comm badges down on the table and looked at Archer.

“And you’re sure that’s it?” Archer asked.

“Well I _am_ wearing undies if you want me to strip,” Dax said, folding her arms. “What kind of energy source are you even looking for?”

“We’re not sure,” Archer said.

“I’m a science officer,” Dax said deliberately.

“As am I,” T’Pol said. She rose and put her hands behind her back. “Captain, I suggest that Commanders Tucker, Dax and I start work immediately on discovering what we can about this energy source. If it the same one that interrupted station systems and brought us here in time, or if it has affected our ship’s nacelle, then we must find it before it can cause more damage.”

Reed got to his feet. “We have their weapons, sir. There’s not a lot of trouble they can cause if they’re monitored.”

Worf looked at Sisko. “I should return to the station. The fewer people who are here the better.”

“Agreed,” Sisko said. He looked at Archer. “You need Commander Dax, Captain. The rest of us are expendable.”

“I’d like to ask for Kira’s help,” Dax said suddenly. The table turned to her. “She has knowledge of certain kinds of… energy output and their applications.”

“What guarantee do I have that you’ll help us and not sabotage the investigation?” Archer asked.

“You don’t know me, but I _am_ Starfleet,” Dax said, an edge to her voice. “I hope this is simply concern for your ship, Captain, and nothing to do with which race of humanoid is offering help.”

“Dax,” Sisko snapped.

She looked at the table deliberately.

“While it is true that Captain Archer has been fooled before where offers of help are concerned,” T’Pol began quietly, “it is also true that he is usually accepting of non-humans.” She paused. “For a native of Earth.”

“Captain Archer,” Sisko said slowly. “All of this is up to you. I can take my crew and leave here if you wish. I have my own station to worry about.” He paused. “But if you want this done quickly, you could use Commander Dax and Major Kira’s help. The choice is yours.”

Tucker threw his hands in the air. “Hell, I’m in, Captain. We need to fix this fast, and if we need two of their officers to do it, then let’s have two of their officers to do it.”

Archer considered for a long moment. “I’ll accept your help, Captain,” he said slowly. “I just hope we’re not making a mistake, here.”

Sisko put his hand out. Archer seemed surprised. But then he reached across the table and shook it.

Sisko made his arm drop and turned to his staff. “Dax, Kira - you’re at the Captain’s disposal. Worf, you’re with me, back to the station.” He turned to Archer. “May we have an escort to the transporter pad?”

“Of course,” he nodded. “McKenzie,” he called over his shoulder. “Give our guests a lift home.”

“Sir,” she nodded.

Sisko and Worf picked up their comm badges, and Kira and Worf their phasers. Sisko put his hands out to take them from them with an air of resignation. Kira eyed him, but then looked up at Worf. She thought for a second, then relinquished her phaser. Sisko and Worf walked around the table, heading for the MACO by the door. She pressed the button to trigger the door to open, but Sisko paused to look back.

“It’s a shame,” Sisko said.

Archer looked over at him. “What is?”

“That it’s happening this way. It’s not very… Starfleet.” And he turned and walked out. Worf ducked out after him, and McKenzie nodded to Archer before tailing them. The door slid shut behind them.

Archer turned back to appraise Dax and Kira, his face still dour. “Malcolm, take our guests down to Engineering. I guess that’s where they’ll need to start.”

“Aye, sir,” Reed said. He went to the door and waited patiently. Dax and Kira collected their badges from the table and put them back on their uniforms before Dax looked directly at T’Pol. Some kind of knowing glance was shared between them, and then the three of them, plus Tucker, went to the door.

They stepped out but Reed held the door open. He looked at his Captain. “Sir?” he asked.

“Go, Malcolm.”

“Captain.” He left and the door shut.

Archer strode around the table, letting out a long sigh. He stopped in front of the window and stared out at the far-away stars, and the station sitting patiently, just off to the right. He looked down at the carpet and let things turn over and over in his mind.

 

-^-

 

Dax put her hand to the doorjamb and stepped over the lip of the door to Engineering, grinning from ear to ear. “Wow. Now _this_ is an Engineering section.” She walked in and up to the warp controls right in the middle in the room, just staring up at it. Kira followed her in, noticing the crew members, also in blue jumpsuits, stopping to stare at the two new arrivals. The two _Enterprise_ crew came in after them. Reed made sure they were all inside, then pulled the door shut and made his way back to the bridge.

Tucker crossed the room. “Who’s got the specs?” he called, as if expecting everyone to stop and listen.

They did. One engineer ran up and handed him two PADDs, his face apprehensive. “We spotted it not long after you left, sir. Looks like it’s what knocked out our nacelle but we don’t know how or why.”

Tucker’s eyes went over the read-outs. “Good work finding it,” he said offhand. The crew member straightened up a little. Tucker, oblivious to him, muttered to himself.

T’Pol walked up to stand beside Dax. “May I enquire what your scientific background is?”

“Astrophysics, exo-archaeology, exobiology and zoology,” Dax said, still staring around her.

“And how will that help us?” T’Pol asked.

“What did you study on Vulcan?” Dax asked.

“I was a member of the Vulcan High Command’s Science Council, and was assigned to the starship _Seleya_ as their Deputy Science Officer,” she said.

“Does that cover how much you know, how useful you could be?” Dax asked.

“I see your point.”

“I’ve also been an engineer, designing propulsion systems for shuttles and ships this size. Among other careers.”

T’Pol appeared to digest this. “I am not fully familiar with Trill culture,” she ventured. “However, if memory serves, you may be a lot older than you look.”

“You’d better believe it.”

Kira appeared next to them. “So… what are we doing here?”

“The Commander has a desk. Let me show you where we can access what we have to go on,” T’Pol said. She turned and went across the room, and the two visitors followed.

Tucker ambled over, still staring at screens. “Says here something happened to the entire injection system that runs to the port nacelle, but whatever it is has caused all the necessary damage and simply gone.”

T’Pol sat at the desk, her hands working over the controls. “I concur.”

“So it’s mobile,” Kira said. “Either it’s a device that has been thrown down a chute or access tunnel, and it’s rolling around by itself, or it’s being carried around.”

An alarm sounded. Everyone jumped, save T’Pol, who simply looked up.

“What now?” Tucker called.

“Sir! Regulating vents are not functioning!” came a voice. “We may be in for a breach!”

Tucker dropped the PADDs to the desk and raced for the ladders up the side of the warp controls. He hurried up them fast enough to make Kira and Dax blink. He pushed and shoved at control bars, until he ran to the end and poked his head around the side. “Shut it down!” he called angrily. “Get those valves closed, _now!_ ”

Someone in the recesses of the room must have complied - the pulsing of the warp engine slowed to a stop. Tucker attacked more controls on the console. Engineering went eerily silent as crew appeared from the various nooks and crannies, PADDs or tools in their hands. Tucker turned and went to the safety railing to grip it as he looked out at his staff. Then his eyes, as if on autopilot, went straight to T’Pol.

“Well that’s it,” he said, waving his hands up in helplessness. “We’re dead in the water. What the _hell_ is causing this?”

T’Pol swayed her head up and to one side, appraising Dax and Kira. “That is precisely what we are about to find out.”

 

-^-

 

Sisko strode across Ops, his hands behind his back. Worf and O’Brien watched from the Ops table, loathe to speak.

The lift arrived and they looked over to see Bashir’s bright smile. “Well,” he said grandly. “Can someone tell me what’s going on? The promenade is full of people pointing out of the windows at the first original _Enterprise_ that seems to be floating not too far away - which is two hundred years old, by the way. Rumour has it senior officers have even been _over_ there. Did I mention that the ship is over two hundred years old?”

Sisko stopped pacing and looked at him. “Kira and Dax are helping them restore power,” he said succinctly. “What we need to do now is figure out how to reverse this time-shunt that has brought the ship here.”

“Oh,” Bashir breathed. “So… where do we start?”

“Our science officer is on _Enterprise_ ,” Worf said. “That would leave Doctor Bashir our closest to an expert.”

“Me?” he asked, surprised.

Sisko came back to the Ops table. He clapped Bashir on the shoulder. “You. And seeing as you’re a genetically enhanced genius, it shouldn’t take you long.”

Bashir’s eyes widened on him, and Sisko realised he had touched a nerve. “Aye, sir,” Bashir mumbled.

Sisko cleared his throat and let his hand drop. “Right, well… I’m sure O’Brien could give you some help. He’s pretty good at math and engineering, I hear.”

Some of Bashir’s good humour was restored. “I wouldn’t go that far, sir.”

O’Brien got up from his perch. “If you don’t want my help, just say so.”

Bashir grinned and the two of them went up the steps and turned right, heading for O’Brien’s station.

Sisko locked eyed with Worf. “Commander… how much do we really know about the _Enterprise?_ ”

“Are you referring to Captain Archer’s stand-offish nature?”

Sisko nodded. “Did he seem a bit defensive to you?”

“He was within his rights to receive us with a security detail,” Worf said.

Sisko shook a finger as he let thoughts go through his head. “That’s not it. I’d expected some kind of security presence - he would have no idea who we are. But his attitude when we found out there was some kind of power source interrupting ship’s systems…” He paused. “He turned on us, right there and then. He’s a Starfleet captain - how could he jump to conclusions so quickly?”

“He’s also one of the very _first_ Starfleet captains!” came Bashir’s voice from above them. “There was that horrible business with the alien attack on Earth, wasn’t there? That’s what he was famous for. That and the United Federation of Planets and what-not.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Sisko said with a trace of a smile. “Perhaps that’s it. Pioneering - trail-blazing… that’s why Starfleet went beyond Eris in the first place. But it’s also lonely, and cut off from everything you know. And perhaps it’s taken a toll on our ancestors.”

Worf looked up at the viewscreen. “We cannot provide friendship, sir. It could potentially damage their timeline.”

Sisko sighed. “I’m aware of that, Commander. But… it would be nice. To tell them that… everything they’re doing is worthwhile, necessary - that their sacrifices and struggles will have profound consequences that will make Starfleet what it is today. That they should be proud of what they’ve accomplished, and all the foundation work they have set down for all of us, right here.”

“I was thinking a few beers would do the same job, sir!” came O’Brien’s voice.

“It’s always nice to get another perspective,” Sisko said.

 

-^-

 

T’Pol and Dax spent all afternoon going through calculations, simulations, and theories. Tucker, however, spent most of his time jammed into a small space with only three tools and a flashlight.

“Goddamn tiny designers,” he grumbled, dropping one slim spanner-like tool to his chest and selecting another one. He reached between his knees, currently trying not to fall into his face. He hooked the smaller tool around a switch that was smugly set into the plating between his boots, pressed against the bulkhead over his head as if they owned the place. His left hand kept the flashlight pointed up at his right as he carefully adjusted the switch.

A pair of dark red boots stopped by his head.

He frowned. “What is it, crewman?”

Kira crouched to peer inside the access tunnel. “Commander?”

“Whatever you want, it’ll have to wait,” he said irritably.

“I can help,” she said.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” he said. “This is my ship, Commander, and I know every inch of it. So if you don’t mind—”

“Major.”

“Pardon me?”

“Major. Not Commander. I’m not Starfleet.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He pinched at the switch with his fingers, but it wouldn’t move. He huffed.

“You’re wasting your time,” Kira said.

“What?”

“Get out.”

“I’ll get out of here when I’m done. Which I’m not.”

A hand crossed his front and grabbed up the two tools on his chest. Before he could protest the thieving limb came back in and simply plucked the device from his hand, too. He let his lip curl and his anger surface. His hands grasped at the entrance and he levered himself out, getting out and straightening up.

“Now you look here, Major,” he snapped.

Kira planted her hands on her hips. “You’re wasting your time.”

“I’m changing this thing so we can track the energy signature,” he shot back. “When the two science officers can give me a frequency or at least something to go on, we can use this to find the damned thing that caused my engines to die!”

“That’s _why_ you’re wasting your time,” she said.

Tucker’s hands went on his hips. The way his lips pursed in anger told all of the _Enterprise_ crew around him that a certain someone was about to blow. “So tell me, person from the future who has aaaaall this figured out - what am I missing?”

She met his angry eyes with a cold will to be heard. Her hand went past him to the bulkhead, and without looking, she drew it back to hold it in front of his face. “This, for one.”

His eyes slipped to the steaming mug, then back to her. “What is it?” he demanded, unwilling to let go of his righteous indignation just yet.

“McKenzie tells me it’s coffee,” she said. “The _last_ thing you need is more stimulants, but I’m not here to judge,” she added. Tucker blew out a long sigh. He lifted a hand and took the mug. She let go and folded her arms. A forced smile covered her face. “Drink it, so all the crew members watching us will think we’re friends.”

Tucker looked around and spotted a few people taking interest in their exchange. He sipped the coffee cautiously, but it turned out to be just the right temperature. “Why are you here?”

“If you’re adjusting that to trace an energy signature, then you’re wasting your time. There will be no energy signature to trace.”

“How is that possible?” he asked. “Anything that can affect warp engines so easily _must_ be running on some kind of power.”

“I have a theory.” She let her arms drop and then looked around. “We need to discuss this somewhere people can’t hear us. And I mean a _secure_ place.”

His eyes narrowed. “Follow me.”

 

-^-

 

Dax wiped a hand over her face, running it round to the back of her neck. She flipped her hair out of the way, making it lie on top of her uniform instead of trying to sneak underneath the collar and make her skin itch.

T’Pol looked up from her PADD. “We should take a break.”

“That might be a good idea,” Dax said. “We’ve been over this a dozen times and I _still_ cannot understand how your ship came to be here. There’s nothing to indicate a time-shift or even movement.”

The Vulcan rose from Tucker’s seat in Engineering, and Dax got up from the pulled-up seat next to her. “We can fetch refreshments and perhaps think of a new angle from which to dissect this,” T’Pol said.

“Do you still have an officer’s mess with a real chef?” Dax smiled.

“How often you have served on a vessel such as _Enterprise?_ ” T’Pol asked as they crossed Engineering to the main door.

“Am I that transparent?” Dax asked. “To tell the truth, not much until the last few years. I was on a few Starfleet ships, then I was offered a post on Deep Space Nine. I jumped at it.”

“May I ask why?”

“It was so different from anything else I’d done,” she smiled. “And I already knew Captain Sisko from… previous postings.”

They turned left out of the door and began to walk down the corridor. Passing crew members nodded to T’Pol, then very politely _almost_ made eye contact with Dax.

“It must be hard for you here,” Dax said. “All these people from Earth… and a closed ship, too. How long did it take you to wean yourself off nasal inhibitors?”

T’Pol’s eyebrows raised. “A year. How do you know about that?”

“Well… I have a few friends on various starships who are Vulcan. That and… one day Malcolm will be very _very_ drunk and he’ll confide in me a lot of information about his friends.”

“When does this take place?” T’Pol asked.

“About a week after he returns from his first big visit to Vulcan.” She turned toward T’Pol even as she walked. “Oh he was so _cute_ \- so proud of his friends, so happy for them, so completely smashed on Romulan ale. We got drunk, sang songs, picked up a couple of really nice Rigellians - and I think a good time was had by all. He told all kinds of tales over the years - made me quite jealous, that I’d never meet all three of you together—.” She stopped suddenly, clearing her throat.

“That does not sound like Lieutenant Reed.”

“He did say if there was ever a time to have a real ‘knees-up’, it was then,” she beamed. She paused. “Aaaand I should stop there.”

“Perhaps it would be prudent,” T’Pol observed. They walked on in silence for a moment. “However, I find it agreeable that one day there will be more Vulcans and Starfleet personnel working together.”

“Oh, I know,” Dax grinned cheekily.

They turned a corner or two and found themselves at the mess hall. T’Pol waved Dax in first and they went straight to a counter running down the left side, finding fresh coffee, tea, juice and water of all kinds waiting to be dispensed from various paraphernalia. They each picked a beverage and T’Pol led her to a table by the window. They sat and Dax let her eyes run over the view, including the station.

“What I don’t get is the lack of chronoton particles - or anything to show that a time-jump has taken place,” Dax sighed.

“Chronoton particles?” T’Pol echoed.

“We’ve come across them before. They’re not _always_ present when there’s a time-jump, but they would have been a very nice marker for us.”

“Then perhaps it is the station that has performed some kind of shift, and not our ship.”

“Perhaps. We _did_ experience a massive shake-up right around the time your ship appeared - but the local messages and our relay beyond the wormhole are still there, still running.”

T’Pol lifted her tea and sipped it slowly. “The likelihood that neither of us has moved in time is so small as to be impossible.”

Dax straightened in her chair. “No, not neither of us… _Both_ of us,” she gasped.

“Commander?”

But Dax was getting up from her chair. “You’re right - we’ve been looking at this wrong,” she said. She picked up her mug and turned to find the exit. “Let’s try this again.”

T’Pol shot to her feet and followed as Dax barrelled out of the exit, back toward Engineering.

 

 


	6. SIX

 

Tucker slammed a fist into the door control, making the exit slide shut. He put his coffee down on the small side lip in the engineering duct and stared at Kira. “What’s so secret that we can’t say this out on the floor?”

Kira put her hands behind her back. “I believe what we’re looking for is… hard to find with sensors.”

“Why? Is it too small? The energy signature too faint? What?”

“Everyone wants to know how this happened,” she said. “Well…” She raised her chin and met his gaze. Tucker suddenly had to fight the urge to stand back from the strength of will that exuded the relatively smaller person. “It’s my fault.”

He blinked. “Your fault?” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, what did you do? Accidentally press a button and send us forward in time? All the way from your space station?”

“I think I did,” she said quietly. Her eyes left his face and went travelling around the small service room.

“Run that past me again?”

She sighed. “On the station we have a shrine to our gods. Someone gave us a gift, something very precious, very rare. As the ranking native on the station I was charged with getting it to the shrine safely.” She paused. “Someone stole it from the shrine - he was going to _destroy_ it. I tried to stop him, I tried to…” She let her head tilt. Her mouth worked without sound. “I was so… _angry_. It wasn’t _fair_. We fought so long and so hard, and then one of our own does this to us. I was just…” She looked up at him, noticed his face softer, somehow more forgiving. “I tried to stun him before he could smash it. Somehow… it fell. I hit it. The energy discharge, the sudden jolt to the station, your ship arriving - it all happened at the same time. Now what else could have caused that, if not me?”

He put a hand on his hip, the other finding a perch on a bulkhead corner. He leant into it, thinking, and she realised pretty much all of his anger, his protest, had simply slipped away. “What kind of thing was this? An energy cell, a storage unit for some machine? A _weapon?_ ” he asked.

She shrugged recklessly. “It was an orb.”

“An orb? Like a ball of something?”

She fought an amused smile, he noticed. She met his eyes. “Our gods… they survive, in that wormhole. From time to time over the last ten thousand years, they’ve sent us gifts. Some people call them tears of the prophets, some people call them orbs. But each one has a different feature, a different gift to give.”

“And what gift does this one give?” he asked, nonplussed.

“I think it affects time.”

His head rolled back on his neck as he blew a sigh at the ceiling. “You know, I’ve seen some pretty hairy things out here, Major. Weird moons, green women, rock people, even the doctor’s wife. I’ve never seen one single thing that can change time.”

“You don’t believe in time travel?”

“I absolutely _do_ believe in time travel,” he said. “Only because it’s happened before. But I don’t understand what kind of thing you’re describing for me - and what it’s got to do with our engine problems.”

“I think it’s moving,” she said. “Could it be possible that something with its energy source - which has still yet to be scientifically explained - is moving through time by itself? It would explain how it affected your engines.”

“But how? Why?”

“I don’t know, Commander. But some part of me knows it’s the orb that’s doing this.”

He threw a hand in the air in surrender. “Fine. Just… tell me how to find it.”

“I have no idea,” she sighed. She put a hand up and pressed at her comm badge. “Kira to Dax.”

Tucker stared at the Bajoran symbol, pinned to her red uniform. However, no sound emerged.

She frowned and pressed it again. “Kira to Dax. Please respond.”

Again there was nothing.

“Uh… does that have to be on your station to work?” he asked. “And how did you get a massive communicator in there?”

“Future tech,” she said offhand. “It can’t be because we’re off the station - these things key off each other and keep in contact.”

“Then maybe it’s something to do with why we’re stuck in the wrong time out here,” he said.

“More than likely.” She paused. “We need Dax and Commander T’Pol.”

He nodded. “Let’s go.”

 

-^-

 

“So… this is space-time as left out of all the recent upheavals, and… _this_ is space-time after we’ve been through it,” Dax said, manipulating something on the PADD in her hands. She turned and handed it to T’Pol.

The Vulcan took it daintily enough, her eyes running over it. “It would seem your idea is correct,” she said. “However, if I may…” She adjusted something with her thumbs, and then turned it around. “ _This_ would bring us into alignment perfectly.”

“That’s it! That is what’s _actually_ happened!” Dax cried, excited. T’Pol handed her the PADD back. Dax pressed at more buttons, more settings, more ideas. She muttered to herself as she ran something through on the screen. “It’s the variant - you’re right. But look, if you adjust the power needed…” She handed it back to T’Pol.

Her eyebrows raised. “It appears we have succeeded in diagnosing what is keeping us here.”

“We need to take this to your Captain - and mine,” Dax nodded.

The door to Engineering opened and Dax turned to see Kira and Tucker advancing on them.

“Dax,” Kira blurted. She came to a stop by the two science officers. “I think I know what brought the ship here.”

Dax grinned. She put her hands to the sides of Kira’s shoulders. “It’s not this ship, Kira - it’s the station _and_ the ship!”

“What? The station has moved in time too?” Kira asked.

Tucker frowned, his mouth opening to ask. Dax let go of Kira’s arms. “ _No_ ,” she said excitedly. “The ship _and_ and the station are exactly where they _were_ \- they haven’t moved in time at all.”

“Ooohhh,” Tucker nodded. “That explains a lot.”

“It does?” Kira asked him.

“No,” he said flatly. He looked at T’Pol. “Can you translate?”

T’Pol raised an eyebrow at him as her hands went behind her back. “Our ship has entered a bubble, Commander - the same bubble that some kind of energy device produced around a certain area of space. This bubble is not changing time for anything that enters it at all. In fact, it is allowing all times to be present in the same place - dependent on their mass. The larger the structure, the more stable their time stream within the bubble.”

“What? That’s impossible,” Tucker frowned.

“Apparently not,” T’Pol said. “Our ship is still in 2155,” she went on. “However, at the moment, 2155 and their space station’s time are touching, so that we appear to be in the same day.”

“So we’re ships that pass in the night? The night being who-knows-how-many years long?” he asked.

“It would be more accurate to say that we are both on the line of delineation of our time zones - and those time zones are touching.”

“You mean like looking over the border from Florida to Alabama? Eastern time to Central?” he asked, his face screwing itself up in an effort to understand.

The three women looked at each other. Then they turned to him and while Dax and Kira shrugged in unison, T’Pol gave the impression of complete cluelessness.

“You are the only person present who has witnessed that,” T’Pol said simply. “However, I believe your analogy to be correct - if Florida and Alabama were many years apart.”

He scratched at the back of his head. “And I suppose you ladies have some kind of proof of this, right?”

“We do,” Dax said. “What we need to do now is find out what could be causing this. It can’t be anything from the station or the ship - it’s too powerful, in tiny bursts.”

“I think Major Kira’s figured it out,” he said.

Kira put her hands up in surrender. “ _Maybe_ ,” she stressed. “I think it’s the orb. When I hit it with a phaser, all this started up. And if it really _is_ the orb of time, then it’s more than capable of doing this.”

“But why damage the ship’s nacelle? How?” Dax asked.

“Perhaps someone could explain how this ‘orb’ works,” T’Pol said. “Is it a weapon? Volatile in nature?”

“It’s not a weapon,” Kira sighed.

Dax frowned in thought. “But… if struck by energy, maybe it could… knock it off-balance? Make it dizzy, disorientate it enough that it’s just…”

“Looking for help,” Kira muttered. She looked up at Tucker quickly. “Your engines - what do they put out?”

“Uh… the usual,” he said cautiously. “Like… waste gases, a little bit of heat, of light. —But it’s all within tolerances.”

“Any neutrinos?” Kira asked. “It could be trying to home in on those.”

Dax’s eyes fairly goggled at her in realisation. “Home - it’s looking for home.”

T’Pol and Tucker looked at each other. Then he put his hands on his hips. “’Scuze me,” he said deliberately. “But you’re talkin’ like this thing is alive. And where exactly is ‘home’?”

“If it is looking for neutrinos, it would be following the trail to where they are at their peak,” T’Pol said slowly. “Which would lead it to the wormhole.”

“The celestial temple - where it came from in the first place,” Kira said.

Dax frowned. “So how do we get out of this bubble? Because if this ship is _stuck_ in it, then so is Deep Space Nine.”

 

-^-

 

O’Brien sat back on the stool, picking up his mug and downing a few mouthfuls. “Nothing. You?”

“Nothing,” Bashir replied glumly, swinging his matching stool about six feet away. He picked up a small piece of fruit from the makeshift picnic going on by O’Brien’s console.

“Bollocks,” O’Brien sighed. He sipped again, then put his mug down. “Well maybe Dax and Kira are having more success.”

“Uhm… hello?” called a firm, yet terribly British voice from behind them. “Is there someone here who could tell me where I am?”

Bashir and O’Brien rose. They went around the bulkhead to see a man, dark-haired and serious-eyed, wandering around the rear Engineering station. He was wearing a blue uniform with red outlines to his shoulders, which made Bashir’s mouth drop open.

“Captain Reed!” he grinned. The man turned so fast Bashir took a step back. He put his hands up to show they were empty. “How did you get here?”

Reed looked around slowly, then his eyes went up and down the two men’s uniforms. “I don’t actually know, to tell the truth.”

O’Brien nudged Bashir. He turned away from the curious Reed to mutter at the doctor: “He’s not a Captain; he’s only got two pips on that boiler-suit.”

“Are the number of pips the same as they were two hundred years ago?” Bashir hissed back.

“Look, gentlemen, I’m really not here to get in the way,” Reed said. “But can someone tell me how I was on my way to Engineering and ended up here? I mean I assume this is the space station?”

O’Brien nodded. “Yeah, this is the space station,” he said. “Stay right here, sir. Ok?”

“Right,” Reed nodded. O’Brien turned and disappeared round a corner and down some stairs, leaving Bashir to simply grin and rub his hands together.

“So,” Bashir said.

“So,” Reed allowed. He cleared his throat. “How is _your_ day going?”

“Oh, not bad.” He paused. “Did a bit of medicine, read a book. You?”

“Started out well,” he mused. “Calibrated some weapons, scheduled some training exercises. Then all this happened.”

“Ah.”

“Quite,” Reed smiled. He folded his arms. He looked up as he noticed someone else rounding the bulkhead.

“Mister Reed,” Sisko said with a smile. “How did you get up here?”

“Captain,” Reed said immediately, straightening up and putting his hands behind his back. “I don’t actually know, sir.”

Sisko looked at Bashir. “Doctor, get down to Ops, please. Ask Commander Worf if he wouldn’t mind scanning the station.”

“What for, sir?” Bashir asked.

“Missing people. I’m guessing Lieutenant Reed here was snatched up and deposited on the station, and if he was, then maybe other people are being moved about too.”

Bashir leapt up from his stool as if kicked. “Yes sir.” He hurried round the bulkhead and off toward the steps.

Reed and Sisko looked at each other. “If it’s not too sensitive a subject, Captain,” Reed said, “can you tell me where I am?”

“You’ve dropped in on the only part of the station you shouldn’t really be seeing,” Sisko sighed. “However, I can have you beamed back to your ship from here.”

“I’d appreciate that, sir,” Reed nodded. “Just… Well. Just in case someone figures out what’s happening and we get our ship back to our own time. I wouldn’t want to be stuck on your station, sir. —No offence.”

“None taken,” Sisko smiled. He waved a hand out. “I can show you to the transporter, Lieutenant.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The two men walked round the bulkhead toward the stairs, until there was a beep from the large Ops table beyond them. Sisko went down the stairs and pressed at the touchscreen surface. The viewscreen flared into life to show Dax and T’Pol.

“Commanders?” Sisko asked.

“Sir - sorry to just hack your commline,” Dax said. “Our communicators aren’t working between us, or to you over there.”

“Do you know why?”

“We believe it is directly connected to how we are in the same time,” T’Pol said.

Dax’s mouth opened, then stalled. “Malcolm? How did you get there?”

Sisko turned back to see Reed had ventured down the steps and was standing a short distance behind Sisko. “As I keep telling everyone; I don’t know, Commander,” he said.

Sisko looked back up at the viewscreen. “I’m going to guess it’s some kind of fall-out from whatever is moving things about in time.”

“Captain, we need to speak to you about our findings,” T’Pol said. “I shall contact Captain Archer also.”

“Sounds like you two have all this figured out,” Sisko said.

“Almost,” Dax nodded. “We know the how, and we think we have the why… we’re just not sure how to undo it. —Yet.”

“That’s a small victory I’ll take,” Sisko nodded. “Do I have permission to beam aboard? I’ll return your wayward Lieutenant to you, Commander T’Pol.”

“I shall brief the Captain,” she nodded. “Come aboard at your convenience.”

The viewscreen went blank. Sisko turned to look at Reed.

“Ready when you are, sir,” he smiled.

 

-^-

 

The ward room was a silent place. Sisko, Dax and Kira sat along one edge. Archer, Tucker and T’Pol were stationed along the other. McKenzie was again by the door, her rifle stowed, but her attention was on everyone in the room.

Archer sat forward and put his laced hands on the table. “So run all this past me again.”

Sisko looked at Dax and gestured with his head. She cleared her throat. “Commander T’Pol and I have plotted the course we both took to get here. It’s not the ship that has moved in time, or the station. We’re both in the correct time zones.”

Archer frowned. “You’ve plotted a course?”

“In time, not space,” T’Pol supplied. “Commander Dax realised that we have not moved in time at all. Rather, time has moved around us.”

“Explain,” Archer said.

“Your ship has been caught in a bubble - a huge time bubble. This bubble was caused by events on our station - and therefore envelopes our station as well,” Dax said.

“It is this bubble which is allowing all times to co-exist,” T’Pol said. “No-one is out of time. In fact, our times are simply overlapping.”

“So this is simply a matter of getting out of this bubble?” Archer asked.

“Precisely, Captain,” T’Pol nodded.

“How do we do that?” he asked.

Kira sat straighter. “We need your help to locate an item that we think is moving around your ship - and affecting ship’s systems wherever it goes.”

Archer looked at Tucker. He nodded. “It’s true, Captain. Near as I can figure it, Major Kira’s right. We’ve tracked a weird energy signature to the precise place you’d need to be to interfere with the warp engines. And we’ve traced it in a pocket right outside Engineering - where Malcolm disappeared from.”

“He ended up on our station, as you know,” Sisko said.

“I’ve spoken to Malcolm,” Archer nodded. “What I don’t understand is how this ‘item’ is able to do all this.”

“That’s complicated,” Tucker said. “But what _isn’t_ is that all we have to do is track it down, box it up, and all this will go away.”

Archer nodded. He looked up suddenly. “Then let’s do that. How do we track it?”

“Commander T’Pol and I are working on it,” Dax said. “We need to figure out what to key the search on, and then we can begin.”

“Then let’s proceed quickly,” Archer said. “I don’t want any more crew being moved from ship to station or back again.”

“Agreed,” Sisko said. He got to his feet. “You have your orders, people. Let’s get to it.”

Tucker and T’Pol waited for Archer’s nod. As Dax and Kira were already on their feet, the two _Enterprise_ officers followed them to the door. Sisko pulled his uniform straight, then moved to go around the table.

“Captain,” Archer said suddenly. “A moment, please.”

Sisko paused, but Archer waited until the door had shut behind everyone. Even McKenzie had left the room.

The two captains looked at each other. Sisko tilted his head and simply waited.

Archer walked around the table toward the window. His fists at his sides, he gazed out at the station. “I hope you can understand why I’ve gone at this like I have.”

“Being a Captain… allows you the luxury of not having to explain yourself. I think I know where you’re coming from. Your time period… it’s exciting, changing times. For everyone.”

Archer looked back at him. “I wouldn’t say exciting.”

“I know, Captain. Earth has been attacked - recently, for you. Big things have caused irreparable damage to our home system, to its way of life. But… it’s still here, two hundred years later. Starfleet is bigger, some would say better, more inclusive. It’s not perfect, but… it’s getting there.”

Archer nodded. “I came out here thinking people would be glad of help, that they’d be as curious about us as we were about them.”

“Not everyone plays well with others,” Sisko said wisely. “I could tell you some stories about some of the races that have come through the wormhole. Some have brought incredible discoveries. Some… have not.”

Archer let himself smile slightly. “I think I know where _you’re_ coming from.”

Sisko hesitated, the other captain noted. Then Sisko looked up. “I shouldn’t do this, but… it’s an honour, Captain,” he said slowly. “You were the first - you paved the way for everyone who followed. I could give you names of famous captains, icons of Starfleet, but they’d mean nothing to you, not for a hundred or so years. And yet here you are, laying the foundation for all that is to come. Because of you, people like me enlist in Starfleet, go through the academy, and end up in far-flung reaches of the galaxy. Because of you, Starfleet is nearly fifty percent non-human, and it’s not an issue, it’s a welcome side effect of exploring. Because of you, Earth will always be home, but for a lot of us it’s not _home_.”

Archer turned back to the window. “We’ve had some difficult years out here,” he said quietly. “Some days I wonder why we do it, why we bother. It’s something I’ve never shared with anyone.” He turned to Sisko. “But… seeing you in that uniform - that is still a uniform, whatever it looks like - and seeing the array of people in your senior staff… It’s something that gives me hope.”

“Just don’t tell anyone about this when you get back,” he smiled.

Archer smiled. “I have a feeling this is going to give us all something to talk about on the ship for a long time to come - but how far it goes beyond that? I’d lay odds that it won’t be far at all. Who’d believe us?”

“When it comes to the _Enterprise_ , I think just about anything is believable,” Sisko grinned.

“Can you tell me one thing?” Archer smiled. “Just how do you have such a high opinion of my ship?”

“This isn’t the first ship named _Enterprise_ ,” Sisko said.

“And it won’t be the last?”

Sisko inclined his head slightly. “I didn’t tell you that. You inferred.”

Archer grinned. “I guess I did.”

“I’ll get back to the station.”

“I should be on the bridge,” Archer nodded.

The two captains looked at each other. Then Sisko crossed the room toward him. “In case we don’t get to meet again, Captain…”

Archer put his hand out. “Thank you, Captain Sisko.”

“A pleasure, Captain Archer.”

They shook hands, and then Sisko turned and left.

Archer turned back to look out of the window. And then he smiled.

 

-^-

 

Ensign Hoshi Sato got up from her station on the bridge, nodded to her replacement hovering over her shoulder, and went straight to the turbolift. It whisked her down through the ship, bringing her out on the expected deck. She smiled, let herself relax, and mosied on down the corridor. She came upon the door to the mess hall and went in, finding the place was not as busy as she had expected.

Casting her eyes over the array of ready-made dishes and plates under the long glass counter, she put her hands behind her back and let her thoughts wander.

A sudden cry of surprise, or fear, made her spin around.

Crew members were hastily getting up from their seats. Forgotten plates abandoned, they backed up to one side of the mess hall.

Sato hurried over and pushed through the sparse wall of uniforms. At the wall, his back almost touching it, was a tall, wide gentlemen of a brown, also rhino-like appearance, save the lack of horns. Dressed in brown and looking extremely confused, he was simply shifting his weight from left to right as he turned slightly, taking everyone in.

She came forward but strayed to the wall, touching at the comm panel. “Sato to the Captain. Sir, we have an unexpected guest in the mess hall.”

A moment went by. Then another. “This is Archer. Are they wearing one of the station uniforms?”

“I don’t believe so, sir,” she said. Her wide eyes still on the newcomer, they took in the way he lifted his hands as if to check them, then turned them over and looked up at the gathering crowd of onlookers. “He just… appeared out of nowhere.”

“Sounds like he _is_ from the station,” Archer replied. “Can you please bring him up to the ward room.”

“We’re on our way, sir.” She let go of the button and stepped closer to the Lurian and showed her hands were empty. “Hey. My name’s Hoshi. I take it you came from the space station?”

The man nodded. He took a step forward to see out of the window to his right.

Hoshi stepped back to give him room. “We can get you back there. If you’ll follow me, I’ll get you home.”

He put a finger up, then opened his mouth.

Hoshi waved her hands at him. “Please - don’t. Anything you say could be revealing about our future out here.”

He sagged, and his hand and arm dropped. He nodded sadly.

She smiled and waved him in the direction of the door.

They left the mess hall.

 


	7. SEVEN

_Shipping forecast: like Fedex, people._

 

Dax moved around the table, checking the read-outs on the relatively old-fashioned PADD as she did so. She glanced up at the Vulcan. “So,” she said slyly, making sure her eyes were watching the read-outs refresh themselves. “What’s the story between you and Commander Tucker?”

T’Pol did not look up from her work. “To which ‘story’ are you referring?” she asked mildly.

Dax grinned. “Oh come on. You aren’t the first person to fall for someone of another species. I’ve done it - more than a few times. There’s no shame in admitting it.”

“What shame would there be?” T’Pol asked, apparently curious.

Dax rolled her eyes. “Come on - the Vulcan High Command? They’d skin you alive - if they could catch you. Of course, the fact that he’s an engineer would come in handy. Imagine what _that_ would be like - the two of you on the run from your superiors. You’d be like outlaws or something. ‘Tucker and T’Pol - space fugitives’,” she grinned.

T’Pol’s eyebrow arched. “You seem familiar with the workings of the Vulcan High Command.”

“I used to work there. Well, not _there_ , inside the compound, obviously. I worked as an office clerk for one of the attachés - from Trill.” She paused. “I met R’Don there. Now _he_ was a lot of fun - for a Vulcan,” she teased. “We had the best year… And then… Well. We went our separate ways. He wanted to return to Vulcan, and I was just a young man who wanted to be a chef.”

“Quite a dilemma.”

“Oh you wouldn’t believe,” Dax sighed.

They continued to work in silence, until eventually T’Pol paused in her work. She stood the edge of the PADD on the console to look at Dax. “It is… not a happy story, Commander.”

Dax raised her eyebrows. “Then I have a bottle of Andorian whisky in my quarters that we should _definitely_ open.”

T’Pol let her eyebrows twitch up and down even as she swayed to lift the PADD. “That will not be necessary.”

“Few things are - at least the _fun_ ones. Anyway, I’ve seen the way he looks at you. And for a Vulcan, well… it’s obvious you kinda like him,” she said with an apologetic shrug.

“How is it obvious?”

Dax smiled. “That, right there, for one thing. And the fact that when I suggested you own up to being attracted to him because there’s no shame in it, the _first thing_ you asked for clarification on was the ‘shame’ part.”

“That is hardly conclusive proof of feelings.”

“I don’t see what’s holding you back, really,” Dax went on. She pressed at the screen in her hand, running through lines of data. “I mean, he’s funny, and he’s pretty clever. For a human. And he’s not bad looking _at all_.”

Both of T’Pol’s eyebrows raised. “He is a consummate engineer.”

“And the ‘holding you back’ part?”

T’Pol paused for a long moment. “That is… complicated.”

“Try me. I’ve had plenty of experience being married, divorced, chucked out of the house and being jilted. Not to mention the walking frown of a klingon partner I’ve picked up.”

T’Pol studied her in surprise. “Would you care to clarify that statement?”

“Commander Worf? He and I are together. Sometimes he makes me want to punch him - and _not_ in a foreplay kind of way.” She shrugged. “Love is weird like that, I suppose.”

“You mean to say that you do not harbour affectionate or even fond feelings for your mate at all times?” T’Pol asked.

Dax’s mouth nearly fell open. “Absolutely not - no-one does,” she scoffed. “And anyone who says different is lying.” She tapped at her PADD for a moment, but then stopped short to look at the Vulcan. “Wait - are you telling me you didn’t think you were attracted to him just because he causes you disagreeable bouts of conflict?”

T’Pol eyed her, letting her head tilt slowly to one side. “You did not accuse me of being angry with his behaviour.”

“You’re Vulcan,” Dax said knowingly. “Look, sometimes he’s going to cause problems - all partners do. It can’t be perfect, twenty-five hours a day, seven days a week. But… when it’s right? It’s amazing.”

T’Pol appeared to consider this. She looked at her PADD but her fingers didn’t move. She appraised the Trill. “Speaking to you in this manner, about such a personal subject… it is unexpected.”

“Maybe you needed a complete stranger to confide in. And once I’m gone, who’s going to know?” Dax asked.

“This has been a most enlightening discussion.”

“Has it ever,” Dax grinned. “So that’s it? That’s all the sad story you have?”

“We had a daughter—” T’Pol halted, fighting feeling of shock at her own audacity.

Dax waited. And waited. “And… she’s not here now?” she asked gently.

“She is not,” T’Pol said. “She was created in a laboratory - a binary clone, comprised of my and Commander Tucker’s DNA without our knowledge. The method their scientists used was… reckless and faulty. She died before she reached seven months old.”

Dax’s entire body had frozen. She was staring at T’Pol as if her eyes could hug the other woman better. Instead she nodded slowly, looking her in the eye. “I see.”

“When I first… began to spend off-duty time with Commander Tucker, it was to perform neuropressure on him, and guide him to use it on me, to help relieve his insomnia. His sister had died on Earth and he was distraught.” She paused. “I… had cause to…” She swayed slightly, unable to meet Dax’s eyes. “I felt the need to explore a physical relationship with Commander Tucker. It was an experiment that lasted a single night.”

Dax folded her arms. “You’re a bad scientist,” she said flatly.

“Excuse me?”

“Well every scientist knows that you have to perform the same experiment three times to make sure of your findings,” she said, and then her face cracked into a cheeky grin.

T’Pol’s head tilted to the left in sudden understanding. “Indeed. …Perhaps that was short-sighted of me.”

“So what happened next?”

“We… have had a difficult time defining any kind of relationship between us. We seemed to settle into being simply shipmates and colleagues. And then six months ago, Commander Tucker and I stood and watched our daughter die, unable to help her. I… experienced his pain, and my own, magnified by a personal bond we share.” She looked at her PADD.

Dax’s demeanour lost all humour. “Are you doing your best to never feel that pain again?” she ventured. “Or are you afraid that you only feel pity for Tucker, that only grief brings you together, and without it you have nothing else?”

“It has been a dominant force in our relationship,” T’Pol said.

Dax put down her PADD. Her hands went to her hips. “And yet you can’t stay away, can you?”

“I have been unusually concerned for his personal safety.”

“Since your daughter died?”

“Yes.” She paused. “And I have noticed that he… seems considerate of my well-being, even when he is not in the same room as me.”

Dax nodded. “I understand your reticence, really, I do. When Worf goes on missions, I worry I may never see him again. But whether I lose him or not, I can’t pass up the chance to be _in_ a position to have someone to worry about.”

“I do not understand,” T’Pol said quietly.

Dax studied her for a moment. “Is it agreeable to you that you both serve on the same ship?”

“Yes.”

“And would it cause significant conflict if you didn’t see him every day, in any capacity?”

“Undoubtedly.”

“It is pleasing to work with him?”

“Of course.”

“Do you volunteer to share your private time with him, even though you had planned to do something else originally?”

“Always.”

“Can you imagine life on this ship - or _any_ ship - without him?”

“No.”

“How was the sex?”

“Excellent.” T’Pol’s eyes widened. “You deliberately led up to that question.”

Dax grinned. “Maybe. You can’t be more than… what, sixty?”

“Nearly ninety,” T’pol replied coolly.

“Well Tucker might be a lot younger than you, but he’ll live shorter, too. By the time he’s a hundred you’ll be a hundred and sixty. Which is a very good age gap, considering. If I were you, I’d take the opportunity to make something of this thing you two have. You never know when it’ll be gone.”

“That is precisely my concern,” T’Pol argued.

“There was a man from Earth, called Tennyson, about five hundred years ago. He wrote a poem, and one of the most famous lines from it is ‘’tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all’.”

T’Pol’s eyebrow raised. “Cause for thought.”

“Maybe that’s all you need.”

The door slid open and Tucker and Kira walked in. T’Pol picked up her PADD hastily, holding it higher than necessary to read the lines on the screen.

Tucker stopped by the desk. “Well Major Kira has an idea of what to do with this orb thing when we _do_ find it - all we have to do is ready the transport case.”

Kira nodded. “We’re ready - just waiting on you science folk to give us a way to track it,” she said with a polite smile.

“We’re nearly there,” Dax said. “Why don’t you and Commander Tucker begin work on the strongbox we’ll need.”

T’Pol turned and handed the PADD to Kira. “I shall aid him. Commander Dax no longer needs my input.”

Kira took the proffered PADD and the two station officers watched as a clueless Tucker followed T’Pol out of the room. The door closed and Kira looked back at Dax. “Ok, what was that all about?” she asked.

“What was what all about?” Dax asked airily.

Kira frowned. “Dax—”

“Hey, I’m not starting anything that isn’t already going on,” she said. “How did you get on with Tucker?”

“He’s good, I’ll give him that,” she said. “But then we got to talking about makeshift explosives and how to avoid them. Honestly - I don’t know what Starfleet was teaching their engineers two hundred years ago, but apart from going off-book to make something called ‘moonshine’, he’s pretty attached to his procedures.”

Dax smiled. “Well he pretty much _was_ the first chief engineer of a warp-capable starship. And he made _good_ moonshine.”

“And how would you know that?” Kira asked.

“A long time ago, in a former life, I worked with Captain Reed. Tobin and Malcolm got on like a house on fire.”

“Was Tobin the engineer? The quiet one?”

Dax nodded. “Was he ever. He really needed someone to bring him out of his shell, and there was something about Malcolm that made that easier for him. The more Tobin was around, the more he and Malcolm went out, drank, told stories, had _fun_. And Malcolm talked about his friends - and about how Tucker was injured in some ship attack some years from _this_ now, on the _Enterprise_. He recovered, but decided his life needed a new direction. So he took a teaching post instead.”

“He went back to Earth? He doesn’t seem the type,” Kira said.

“I never said Earth,” Dax smiled. “He settled into his new job, got married there, made a home. When Tobin last saw Malcolm, Tucker and his wife had a daughter, barely a year old.”

Kira’s face went dark. “You haven’t told anyone on this ship, have you?”

“Of course not. Our past - their future - doesn’t need me. Like I said, it’ll happen anyway.”

“It’d better. I don’t want another visit from Temporal Investigations,” Kira said. “Now where do we start here?”

 

-^-

 

Dax stepped over the door ledge of Engineering, surveying the room to find T’Pol and Tucker by his desk. She strode over brandishing two tricorders in her hand, Kira coming into the room and hastening after her.

“Well here we are,” she announced, offering two tricorders to T’Pol. “Kira and I think we have these set to follow our wayward orb.”

T’Pol took the devices. Her eyes skimmed down the top one. “What do they key on?”

“Micro changes in air density,” Dax said.

Tucker pursed his lips. “How do they do that exactly?”

“Just kidding,” Dax smiled. “They’re following a neutrino slipstream. They pool and eddy in certain pockets - and I’ve rigged four tricorders to track them. Hopefully, the orb is heading for any one of these large eddies at any one time.”

“‘Scuze me - you just ‘rigged’ four devices to do a track and analysis job?” Tucker said, his hand up in a plea for the universe to halt for a moment.

“Well… I might have used a bit of future tech.,” Dax said apologetically. “So no, you can’t keep these tricorders once we’re done.”

“What if one… went missing?” Tucker asked innocently.

Kira smiled, but gestured to a large, steel-effect shape on the desk behind him. “What’s that?”

He stepped back and patted the box. “Well _we_ rigged this here storage unit into a containment device. It’s based on shielding tech. but it’s got some stasis and neutrino-balancing thrown in there too.”

“Impressive,” Dax blinked, nodding appreciatively.

“I try,” he said with a smile.

Kira lifted her own tricorder to make sure it was on. “Let’s go find it then.”

“You will need these,” T’Pol said. She stretched out her hand to open it palm-up.

Dax and Kira came closer. “Communicators?” Dax asked.

“While yours appear to be inoperable, it would be prudent to ensure we can all keep in contact,” the Vulcan said. Kira nodded and took one, standing back for Dax to do the same.

“So how do we divvy up the ship?” Tucker asked.

“In pairs. You and I shall start aft, staying on the centre deck where it has been recorded before,” T’Pol said, glancing at him. “I suggest Commander Dax and Major Kira begin fore.”

“ _Logically_ , if we split into four we’ll have twice the chance of coming across it than if we were in two pairs,” he said stubbornly.

T’Pol turned and pinned him with a serious stare. He just raised his eyebrows. She swayed to look back at Dax. “The Commander has an unerring ability to injure either himself or his tools whilst on his own. We shall stay as a team. You are of course free to decide between you.”

“I think we’ll stick together,” Kira said, trying to keep a straight face. “Dax is more than capable of going off on a tangent. The first team to find it yells for help. If it’s us, we’ll call for the containment unit.”

“Agreed,” T’Pol nodded. “Good hunting.”

“And you,” Dax smiled, winking at Tucker. Then she turned and gestured for Kira to head for the door.

“What was that for?” he wondered.

The two women were at the large exit and stepping through as T’Pol turned to Tucker. “What was what for?” she asked.

“Never mind. I suppose I’m carting this thing around, am I?” He grabbed the handles on the sides of the unit, hefting it off the surface.

“I shall carry your device. We shall take turns,” she said. She lifted her tricorder to read it. “Let’s go.”

 

-^-

 

Dax paced down the corridor, ignoring the _Enterprise_ crew members who stopped and stared at the sight of two strangely-uniformed women stalking so industriously through their home.

“Dax,” Kira said suddenly. She stopped dead, then spun to her right. She lifted the tricorder a little higher. “Uh… Think I’ve got something.”

Dax came back, peering over her shoulder at the screen. “Could be.” Her head came back up and she looked at the door in front of them. “In there?”

“Try it,” Kira nodded.

Dax stepped around her and went to the door. She put her ear to it. Then she pressed at the door release.

The door hissed open.

 

-^-

 

“Far be it for me to try to put a wrinkle in one of your plans,” Tucker grumbled as he followed T’Pol along the corridor, “but when we _do_ find this thing, how do we get it into the box?”

The Vulcan didn’t break stride. “I hold it open and you chase it in, rather like an ancient Earth ‘sheep’ ‘dog’.”

Tucker stopped, his face a picture of annoyance. “Not funny, T’Pol.” He huffed and began to follow again. “Although it does prove one thing.”

“What is that, Commander?”

“That you _do_ have a sense of humour. I mean, you _were_ joking, right?” he said. She looked over her shoulder at him as she walked. Then her eyes went back to her tricorder. He frowned. “Right?” he pressed.

 

-^-

 

Reed opened the door to his quarters with a lethargic hand. Traipsing across the neat carpet, he unzipped his uniform a little and plonked himself down in his chair. He allowed himself to slip down in the seat, and his head to dangle over the top of the backrest. His eyes closed for a moment.

His hand whipped out and snatched up a phase pistol from the desk. He spun so fast he nearly came off the seat - but the weapon was aimed steady and true on a person in the gloom.

Their back to him, their hands up as if protecting their nose from injury, they floundered until they realised they were literally in a corner.

“You’re the doctor, if I remember rightly,” Reed said. He let the weapon down.

Bashir spun on the balls of his feet to see there was an entire room behind him. “Oh! Hello again,” he smiled. “Um…” He looked around hurriedly. “This would be the _Enterprise_ , would it?”

Reed got up and dropped the weapon to the desk. “Sorry. Yes.”

“Ah. Right. I literally stepped out of the Infirmary to report to Ops and… well. Your wall nearly took my nose off.”

“This is frightfully inconvenient, isn’t it?” Reed said.

“Oh I don’t know,” Bashir smiled. “I mean, I’ve always wanted to see an antique ship.”

“Antique?”

“Oh don’t get me wrong,” Bashir said hastily. “I mean… comparatively older. Classic, you might say.”

“I might,” Reed nodded. Then he smiled. “Well then. Let’s get you back to your station, shall we, Doctor?”

“Sounds good,” he nodded.

“If you’ll follow me, sir.”

“Of course.”

Reed zipped up his uniform, located his communicator from his thigh pocket, and waved Bashir toward the exit.

 

-^-

 

Kira stepped into the room carefully, watching the bright green, crystalline entity shine and revolve on the spot. She flipped open the communicator in her left hand. “Kira to T’Pol. It’s right here.”

There was a pause. “Can you give me your location, Major?”

Dax shuffled up next to her. “The door says Non-Sensitive Storage.”

“We shall be there… in approximately four minutes. T’Pol out.”

Kira flipped the communicator closed. “Now all we have to do is not make it nervous.” She stepped back, Dax going with her.

 

-^-

 

Reed went to the transporter controls, looking them over. “Well. Good luck, sir,” he said pleasantly.

“And you, Mister Reed. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m hoping we won’t meet again.”

“Me too,” Reed smiled. He nodded formally, and Bashir nodded back. Reed paid attention to his hands, setting the controls and then triggering the device. He looked up to see Bashir phase out of sight. He let his hands drop, shook his head somewhat sadly, and turned to leave the transporter room.

Bashir opened his eyes and found the Ops area of Deep Space Nine directly in front of him. He pulled his hands from behind his back and grasped the rail, coming across the top walkway toward Sisko’s office. The doors opened just as he got there.

“Sir,” he said with an excited smile. “I’ve just been dispossessed! But Mister Reed brought me back.”

“So I hear,” Sisko said as he rounded the door jamb. “Nurse Tamkara said you just disappeared from the doorway to the Infirmary.”

“That I did, sir,” Bashir said. “But luckily I turned up in Mister Reed’s quarters.”

Sisko looked down the steps toward the crisis table, and the klingon currently working around it. “Mister Worf - any idea how many that is, now?”

“Morn has been returned to the bar, and two other Bajoran engineers have been brought back to the station,” Worf said. “Three _Enterprise_ crew members have been returned too.”

“How long will it be before someone is relocated _outside_ the ship or station?” Sisko frowned. He went down the steps. “Where are our inspectors?”

“In their quarters at our request, Captain,” Worf said. “Dax reports they have found the orb and are about to cage it in the strongbox Commanders Tucker and T’Pol have constructed.”

“Let’s hope they do it soon,” Sisko said under his breath.

“I second that.”

Worf and Sisko turned - to find Captain Archer stood behind them.

“Well,” Archer said, trying not to look as annoyed as he felt. “This is awkward.”

 

-^-

 

Dax watched the green orb spin sedately on its axis. “Where are they?” she hissed from the side of her mouth.

Kira backed up to the door and looked out. “I’m sure they’re hurrying.”

“Wait—!” Dax cried.

Kira turned. The room was empty. She sighed, flipped open her communicator, and stepped out of the room. As she spoke into it, Dax followed her into the corridor. She adjusted settings on her tricorder and began to scan all over again.

 

-^-

 

“Kira to T’Pol. We lost it,” came the voice from the Vulcan’s communicator. “It just… vanished.”

Tucker stopped behind her. T’Pol raised her communicator higher. “Acknowledged. We will commence scanning.” She closed her communicator and looked instead at her tricorder. “It would seem there is a large concentration of neutrinos just three hundred metres away.”

“Great. Try that first,” Tucker grumbled.

T’Pol was already walking away. He shifted the box in his hands and followed. They came to a wall, before T’Pol attached the communicator to her uniform and rested the tricorder on top of the strongbox. She turned back to the wall and lifted off a panel, climbing through and walking away.

Tucker rolled his eyes but clambered through to find they were standing in what looked like a firewall space between bulkheads.

“Sisko to Commander T’Pol,” came another voice.

She lifted her communicator again. “T’Pol here. Can we be of assistance, Captain?”

“Do not box up the orb just yet. We have Captain Archer here on the station - we’re about to get him back to the ship.”

“Understood, Captain.”

“We’ll let you know when he’s safe. Sisko out.”

T’Pol went to Tucker and took the tricorder from atop the containment box. “The cloud should be twenty metres ahead of us.”

“We’re not supposed to be poking the bear,” he said.

“‘The bear’?” she prompted.

“Sisko told us to wait. We don’t want to box this thing and find out we left the Captain on some alien station two hundred years in the future.”

“We are simply getting into position. We do not even know if the entity is with the particular cloud.”

He huffed, then put down the box. “So we wait.” He turned and promptly sat on it to wipe his face with both hands. T’Pol remained silent. He paused, made his hands drop, and then squinted up at her. “What now?” he asked.

“Pardon me?”

“Why are you staring at me?”

“I am not staring at you, Commander. I am… waiting.”

“Well look somewhere else while you’re waiting.”

She lifted her chin and turned away deliberately, her hands behind her back. “I… apologise if I disrupt your work patterns.”

“My…?” He sagged, shaking his head. “Is this because I asked you to choose something for movie night next week?”

“This what?”

He rested his elbows on his knees. “You think that because I asked you to choose a movie to watch, that I want you to come to movie night - as my date. You’re worried what everyone will think.”

“That assumes that one, I am correct in my assessment of your motives, and two, I consider other people’s opinions important to me.”

He waved his hands out. “Sure looks that way to me. For your information, I was just askin’. I asked Malcolm a few weeks back, and McKenzie before that. It’s no big deal.”

“I understand.”

“Don’t do that voice on me, T’Pol.”

“What voice?”

“That ‘yeah yeah - whatever’ voice,” he said testily.

“Then do not reply to any valid question of import with ‘it is no big deal’.”

He huffed. “Ok - fine. You want to clear the air? Let’s clear the damn air: you think everything I do is me somehow trying to - to - I don’t know - start something between us. Well you’ve made it _very_ clear there _is_ nothing between us. So relax - it’s just a movie night.”

“You constantly cause me disagreeable bouts of conflict,” she stated, her voice loud.

His face darkened and he got to his feet. “Ex _cuse_ me?”

“But that does not mean there is ‘nothing between us’. In point of fact, it rather highlights that you are one of very, _very_ few people who are able to cause me disagreeable bouts of conflict - and the only one to do it in such a manner.”

“Wha—?”

“And now that I have realised this, it becomes difficult to ignore other - much more agreeable - episodes you cause me.”

He bit his tongue. Physically. Then it swam up inside his cheek and stayed there, loathe to let him open his mouth and interrupt the situation.

She advanced on him, stopping so close she could read his eyes perfectly. “Were I to choose a movie for the evening, Commander, it would be ‘ _Bonnie and Clyde_ ’,” she said, with absolutely no trace of emotion. “And I would not object to going with you. However, I would not be going as your date. You would be going as mine.”

His face erupted in a maelstrom of confusion. He opened his mouth to retaliate.

She stepped closer. Her hand went up to his face and she kissed him just by the mouth.

Rooted to the spot, unable to process what was happening, Tucker simply went with it. She made her hand drop. He cleared his throat. “Uh… ok,” he managed lamely.

“If it is acceptable to you, we shall attend movie night together,” she said, not stepping back. “We will arrive together and ensure that no-one sits between us. We may need to confer about the plot.”

He gave what he hoped was a nonchalant-looking shrug. “If you want.”

“Then I shall endeavour to find a copy of this movie from the archives. It is something called Warner Brothers, not your Universal or Hammer House.”

“Wait - did you just sneak in a movie you think I wouldn’t like?” he accused. She considered his discordant face, but said nothing. “You did that on purpose!” he said, pointing at her.

“Am I causing you a disagreeable bout of conflict?” she asked with a perfectly arched eyebrow.

“Are you causin’—? You—!” He stopped short and huffed in realisation. “Aw hell,” he heaved, reaching for her cheek. He kissed her. She grabbed the front of his uniform to steady herself.

Until the communicator in his pocket beeped. And then again.

She pushed herself away. His hand was already at the zip over his thigh, opening it up and fishing inside. He raised the opened device, his face still managing to register his disbelief at the day’s events. “Tucker.”

“Commander, Captain Archer is back on the _Enterprise_ ,” Dax said from the tiny speaker. “We’re good to go.”

“Acknowledged,” he grumped. “Let us know if you corner the damn thing.”

“Will do.”

He snapped it shut and put it back in his pocket. He turned without a word and picked up the box.

T’Pol stepped back to give him room, then put all her attention to the tricorder in her hand. “Twenty metres in front of us - behind the next wall,” she said.

“Lead on,” he said quietly.

 

 


	8. EIGHT

 

 

Dax nodded to the door. Kira pressed the release and they looked in. Dax opened her communicator quickly. “Dax to T’Pol. It’s here.” They watched the sparkling green crystal spin by itself in mid air.

“We are on our way,” was the response.

Dax stepped into the room carefully, Kira close behind her. “Careful,” the Major hissed. “It’ll run, just like the last time.”

“This time… we have it,” Dax said firmly.

The orb vanished.

“Ugh! This is getting us nowhere!” Kira cried in anger. “Can’t you do some science thing, like leave a trail of neutrinos so it ends up where we want it?”

“Even _we_ can’t manipulate neutrinos so exactly,” she sighed. She opened the communicator again. “Dax to T’Pol. It’s gone. Again.”

“Acknowledged.”

Dax flipped the communicator shut and looked at Kira. “Let’s start again.” She turned to the door and they walked out. “You know what’s odd?”

“This whole thing?” Kira hazarded.

“Apart from that. What’s odd is that the orb just hangs in place and watches _you_ , but when I get near it, it disappears.”

“Well… maybe it doesn’t think I’m a threat,” Kira said.

“Stars,” Dax nodded, coming to a stop.

“What?” She stopped and looked back.

“Everyone is made of stars.”

“That’s very poetic. Which Dax was an artist again?”

“No - it’s science, Kira. Each person is made of _stars_ \- or at least, their elements. You’re made of _local_ elements, in the same make-up or proportions as this sector. I’m not. The balance or the make-up or any one of a hundred different ingredients is different in me, because I’m _not_ from your sector.”

“So… it thinks I’m local and it thinks you’re foreign?” Kira asked.

“I think so.”

“Which means _I’ll_ have to get it into the box.”

Dax shrugged apologetically. “That would be my recommendation. And you’ve worked with it before. You got us home from that _other_ ship - Kirk’s ship.”

“So maybe it just remembers me,” she said.

“Possibly.” She paused. “We have to tell the others.”

“Tucker to Kira,” came a chirp.

Kira looked down at the antique communicator attached to her uniform. “Good timing.” She unhooked it and opened it up. “Kira here.”

“Uh… you may not want to get too close it after all,” Tucker said. “We need a meetin’.”

“About what?”

“About what happens next.”

Kira looked at Dax, confused. “Where?”

“Officer’s mess?”

“I’ve been there,” Dax nodded. “I know where it is.”

“We’re on our way,” Kira said. She flipped it closed. “Well? Where are we going?”

“Follow me,” Dax said.

 

-^-

 

They entered the mess hall to find several blue-uniformed crew members eating or just enjoying a quiet chat. Most noise ceased as the two future officers entered, but people managed not to stare as they wended their way to an empty table by a long window and sat down. They went about checking location data history on their tricorders.

Presently the door opened again and Tucker came in carrying the box, a concerned Vulcan behind him. They crossed to the table and Tucker set down the containment unit.

“So,” he said brightly, leaning one elbow on the box and one hand on his hip. He looked directly at Dax. “Say we do get this thing in the box, and everything snaps back to normal.”

“Yes?” Dax asked.

“What happens to you two?”

Dax opened her mouth. She looked at Kira.

The Major put her elbows on the table and dropped her head in her hands, wiping them down her face slowly. “He’s right. We’ll be trapped on the _Enterprise_.”

“We are assuming that the time bubble will cease to be once we contain the orb,” T’Pol argued.

“We can’t take the chance that it will,” Tucker said. “These two will be stuck in our time, on our ship. I’m not saying we don’t want ’em, but they’ve got lives back on the station, T’Pol.”

“I am well aware of that,” she said with a stern gaze. “However, they are needed to contain the orb.”

“No, we’re not,” Kira said. She glanced at Dax. “I think I am.”

“What?” Tucker asked.

Kira sat back slowly. “I’m from here. The orb is from here. When you two or Dax gets close to it, it leaves. When I get close to it, it just waits.”

“So _you’re_ going to have to stuff the genie in the bottle? Suits me,” Tucker said.

“We cannot trap Major Kira here simply because you do not wish to put your hands in a containment unit,” T’Pol said coldly.

“That’s not what I meant,” Tucker said. “And I just want them to get home. If she’s the only one who can do this, then we need to find a way to make that happen without getting her stuck here. Earth hasn’t even _met_ her kind yet - we don’t even know what her planet’s called. We can’t have her stuck on our ship - what will that do to our future?”

Kira’s head snapped to her right to look at Dax.

The Trill shook her head. “No, Kira. You can’t.”

“But it hasn’t happened yet,” Kira hissed at her. “What if this is what the Prophets want? What if I’m _supposed_ to get thrown back here, before the occupation, before everything? What if I can stop it, Dax?”

“Kira—”

“How do you know this isn’t want they want?”

“Kira—”

“The orb was brought to me - it was in my care. I made this happen, I brought us here. How do we know I’m not supposed to stay here and save millions of people—”

“ _Nerys_ ,” Dax urged. Kira’s mouth slapped shut. Dax looked up at the two officers. “Could you give us a minute, please?”

T’Pol inclined her head. She turned away, Tucker following her along to the counter at the front of the mess hall to go straight to the drinks unit by the door.

Dax turned to her friend. “I’m sorry. But we can’t.”

“Not you, maybe. But _I_ could.”

“I couldn’t leave you here by yourself. I’d have to come with you.”

“You’ve got Sisko and Worf and - and - and all those friends and lifetimes,” Kira argued. “And you’ve already _lived_ this time period. Can you even be here more than once?”

“You _know_ you can’t do this. Say you stay - how could you influence an entire planet’s history? You’re one person.”

“So was Kai Opaka - and so is Winn.” Kira paused. “I’m not comparing myself to them. I’m just saying, sometimes you need just one person to make a tiny difference. By the time Cardassians are a problem, I’ll have been in a position to make one single vote on Bajor, one _tiny decision_ at the right time in the right place - and they’ll never make it to Bajor. The occupation will never happen.”

Dax sat back in her chair. She let her gaze wander over to the windows, to look out onto space. “I understand what this means to you. I know what you think the signs are telling you.”

“How could you?” Kira asked, but her voice was quiet, innocent.

Dax sighed. “Curzon was… an amazing diplomat. He loved other cultures, he dived right in, immersed himself, appreciated them because they were different.” She paused. “He helped negotiate the Khitomer Accords. If he hadn’t, if that treaty had never come into being… millions would have died as the klingons warred themselves into a good death for their entire species - and he knew that. He had nightmares about failing, about what would happen if he _didn’t_ stop the klingons from going out in a blaze of glory.” She looked at her. “I understand how much you want to go back in time and make your own intervention, Kira. I _know_ you want to erase the occupation, to save your entire culture, your planet itself, your people.”

“I just…” She flailed for words. “I never saw what Bajor was before the Cardassians arrived. I never knew what a _free_ Bajor was. I look at history texts and artwork and recordings of life before the occupation and I think… All that is lost. It’s all gone. And we can never get it back.” She wiped her forehead, sat a little straighter. “But I can stop it from being destroyed in the first place. _Imagine_ , Jadzia - Bajor as it should be. As it always was.”

“And our future? You might have no Opaka. You may very well have no Emissary of the Prophets. Without unity through your Kai, what would Bajor be?”

“I don’t know. But I _do_ know it’d be a damn sight better than what it got.”

Dax looked out of the window. “These… things. Pivotal points in time. I’ve seen them come and go.”

“You’re nearly four hundred years old - that’s an easy thing for you to say.”

“No,” Dax said, pinning her with a sad look. “It’s not. I’m not saying this is easy, Kira. I’m not saying the occupation was in any way a good thing. But… it’s done. And I can’t let one person, no matter how well-intentioned, try to influence the past. It never turns out well.”

“So all those people who died - fifteen million of them on Bajor alone. We’re just supposed to let them die all over again?” she demanded.

“They already have.”

“No, Dax, they haven’t. That’s the _point_.”

She sighed. “Fourth-dimentionally speaking, they have.” She paused. “If there’s anything I’ve learnt, it’s that time has a way of snapping back to what it wants to happen anyway. Say you stop the Cardassians from attacking and occupying Bajor. You leave it wide open to the Romulans - or the klingons. What if you _do_ defend it from all comers, and Bajor remains peaceful, safe, the beautiful oasis in space that you want it to be. How then does it defend itself again the Dominion?”

“What if it becomes part of the Federation in the same way that Betazed is?” Kira countered. “We’d have Federation support.”

“You don’t know that,” Dax said softly. “I’m sorry, Kira… but we can’t change history. No matter how much we want to.”

“But we _can_.” She looked up as she noticed a blue uniform approaching her elbow.

“Hey. You… uh… got a minute?” Tucker asked quietly.

Kira and Dax shared a look. Dax got up smartly. “I’m going to see if I can find a way to get at least one of us back to the station, in case this ship disappears around us.”

Kira nodded but kept her eyes on the table. Dax walked off.

Tucker sniffed to himself and moved round to take the seat next to Kira. He turned to look at her, his hands on the surface. “So… you want to stay, is that it?”

She swallowed. “I can’t explain. You can’t know the future.”

“I don’t need to. I’ve seen the past we’ve already had, and I know what that look on your face means.”

She frowned at him. “I don’t understand.”

“You’re not from Earth, right? So you don’t know what happened to it a couple of years before you arrived here in my time.” He wet his lips, lacing his hands together on the table and leaning on them heavily. “Earth was attacked from a space-based weapon. Aliens burnt this massive swathe straight through a continent.” He looked at her. “It was my home. Something like seven million people died. My sister was one of them.”

Kira’s mouth opened. It stalled.

“See?” he said with a rueful smile. “That look on your face right now? That’s what I know. That’s what I understand. Something massive happened to your planet, wherever it is and whatever it’s called, and you think you can change that by staying here, in your past.”

“Wouldn’t you?” she demanded. “Wouldn’t you go back and stop them from attacking your world?”

He sat back and his gaze went up to the ceiling. His head tilted until eventually he was again looking at her. “No.”

“What?”

“The attack they made was small, in comparison. Because of that attack, we stopped them. They never made a second.” He paused. “I don’t want all those people to be dead. I don’t want my _sister_ to be dead.” He looked at her. “But… in the grand scheme of things, I understand it’s a balance that has to be made. My sister for what could have been an entire planet.”

She stared at him, open-mouthed. “How can you sit there and say you have no problem with your own sister being dead as some kind of trade-off?”

His eyes went to the table. “I’m not ok with it.” He huffed. “The Vulcans have this thing, that what the entire planet needs is more important than what one single person needs - or a few of them. Now I don’t like it, I’ll admit. I still don’t want her gone, and I definitely don’t want her dead. I still think about ways I could stop her gettin’ killed.” He looked at her. “But sometimes, I feel bad for wondering… would I trade her for millions? Would I accept her gone to save the planet?” He shook his head. “No. I’ll never accept that she’s gone. But… because she _is_ gone, we got off lightly.”

Her hands pushed against the surface. “I can’t listen to this.”

“Kira,” he urged. She halted mid-stand. She let herself sit again. “One last thing,” he said. “One thing that keeps me up at night.”

Her eyes went to his. “Well?”

“What if… what if what happened to Earth, to your planet… What if this is the _improved_ version? What if someone’s already gone back in time and fixed something, and what happened to us is better than what _had_ happened originally? What if _this_ is the better situation?”

“How can what happened to my planet be any better?”

“Is it still there?”

Her mouth opened. Her eyes widened slightly. “Yes.”

“Then it’s better than being gone. If the people who had tested their weapon on my planet had succeeded in building the weapon they really wanted, maybe one day they would have tried it on yours - and destroyed it entirely.” He shook his head. “I’m not saying what happened to your planet is ok. I’m saying… maybe that’s how it has to stay.”

She got up slowly. “I need to think about that, Mister Tucker.”

“Trip,” he said quietly. “My friends call me Trip.”

She nodded. “I’ll… see what Dax has arranged for our safe return to the station. Trip.”

He waved a hand at her and she walked off.

His right elbow went to the table and he let his head sag into his hand. He supported his forehead, letting his eyes close and images - memories - flit across his mind’s eye. He had no idea how long he sat, immersed in painful images from the past.

Something touched at both his shoulders, sliding a little toward his neck and gripping forcefully. “You are conflicted.” Thumbs pressed into his worn muscles.

“You sure you want to be doin’ that in a public place?” he countered.

T’Pol did not let go. “The opinions of others are irrelevant at this time.”

“I’ll remind you of that when the rumour mill _really_ gets going.”

“Rumour mill?”

He let his hand drop from his head and she removed hers, going to the box. She checked it over with what appeared to be her full attention. He watched her for a minute. “I never thought you’d be…”

“What?” she prompted, turning to look at him.

“Nothing. Forget it.” He stood up.

“Is this about move night?”

“This is hardly the place, T’Pol.”

“Then perhaps we could discuss it in my quarters.” She paused. “When this episode is concluded and everyone is safely back where they should be.”

His mouth squirrelled to one side. “Y’know, it’s comments like that right there that make it really hard to judge what you’re plannin’ in that head of yours.”

She raised her eyebrows at him. “I propose that we have no more communication problems between us. If we are to be seen at movie night and other places as an assumed couple, then we should at least have a solid idea of what the boundaries are.”

He put both hands up in a stop manoeuvre. “Whoa - what? A couple?”

“Is that not what you want?”

“Ho, slow down,” he warned, trying to keep his volume low. “You choose _now_ , in a room of fellow officers who are _really tryin’_ not to watch us, to hit me with this? Now? Here?”

“As I said, we should convene in my quarters when this current crisis is over. We have a lot to share.” She turned to go.

He lurched forward and grabbed her arm. T’Pol stopped and looked at him. “Look…” He lowered his voice. “I’m all for trying this, ok? But where has all this come from? All I’ve had from you lately is ‘leave me alone, I’m studyin’ Surak’ or whatever. Now suddenly you’re all into touching people in public and talking about this like it’s the weather.”

“I believe _you_ are the one currently initiating physical contact.”

He let go of her arm. “This is since our visitors arrived. What’s Kira said to you?”

“I have not had time to work with Major Kira.”

“Then it’s Commander Dax. She’s said something. About… What does she know? She said at that meetin’ that she knew Malcolm. What else does she know? About the future?”

“She did not divulge that information, and I would not have asked her to,” T’Pol said evenly. “However, her species can live an exceptionally long time in comparison to Vulcans. She has had many… experiences, the accumulation of which has given her certain grounds for insight.”

He grinned suddenly. “Right. I get it now.”

“What do you ‘get’?”

“You two gossiped. About me.” He folded his arms and beamed a perfectly cheeky smile at her. “Well what do you know? Two alien women spending their time discussin’ little old me.”

“You are amused at me.”

“Yeah!”

“Need I remind you that once we are alone in my quarters, you may wish you had been more circumspect in your _schadenfreude_ attitude to me, when I was in a public place with limited resource for retaliation?”

His smile turned to alarm. “You mean you’re going to make me pay for this later.”

She arched an eyebrow. Then she turned and left.

Tucker grinned as he watched her walk away. Then he put his hands to the box and lifted it, turning to follow her out of the mess hall. He noticed a blue uniform on the next table, and upon more attentive inspection found it to be Ensign Hoshi Sato.

“Commander,” she said with a wide, shit-eating grin.

He cleared his throat. “Ensign.” He hurried out of the mess hall.

 

-^-

 

O’Brien handed the PADD to Dax. “I think that’ll do it. What do you reckon?”

She took the screen and read it slowly. “A transporter confinement beam,” she mused. “And you’d have to have this on me and Kira the whole time?”

“Yes,” he shrugged. “Kind of like a… pre-transporter beam. So you’re locked and ready, and if the ship _does_ disappear, you’ll be left behind in _our_ space-time - in a transporter confinement beam.”

“How long will we have?”

“How long can you two survive in one of those? About an hour - then irreparable cell damage may occur. But seeing as we’ll be beaming you two back to the station as soon as we see the ship disappear, it won’t matter.”

She nodded. “Thanks, Chief. I’ll take it to Sisko.”

“Oh, he has visitors,” he said with a smile.

“Oh no - not another person being jumped around by this orb?”

“Nope,” O’Brien smiled.

Dax frowned and went around his station to get to the doors to the prefect’s office. She pressed the door chime and the doors opened in front of her. She looked up to see Odo and Quark arguing in full flow right in front of Sisko’s desk.

His head tipped to one side to see around the battling pair. “What is it, Old Man?” he called wearily.

She stepped around them to hand the PADD to him. “O’Brien thinks he can beam Kira and me back to the station if the space-time bubble does disappear around us, and separate our times.”

“How do you _know_ he didn’t kill him!” Quark hurled.

“Good,” Sisko sighed, reading the PADD over. “Are you all ready to move on this?”

“Because his DNA does not match whoever touched his glass in _your_ bar - and he was working in the replimat the whole time the man was _in_ your bar!” Odo shouted back.

Dax looked back at Sisko. “Hard day?”

“Quark wants the man in the brig to be charged for his loss of earnings,” he sighed.

“The man in the brig?” Dax prompted.

“The one who tried to destroy the orb - the one Kira shot and Worf stabbed in the leg,” Sisko winced. “The man’s also claiming that he had nothing to do with the dead man in Quark’s.”

“Ah,” Dax nodded.

Sisko got up. “Gentlemen!” he shouted.

Quark floundered, shocked at the noise. Odo simply folded his arms and glared at the Ferengi.

“Quark - he’s not paying for the loss of earnings caused by your bar being shut due to a dead body,” Sisko began.

Quark bristled. “But Captain!”

“ _No_ , Quark,” he said, his tone dark.

The barkeep took a step back. “Fine. If I go out of business and you’re suddenly short one pillar of the community, then it’s your loss.” He shot a look at Odo. “So much for justice.”

Odo took a step toward him with a growl. Quark turned and hurried out through the office doors. Odo turned back to Sisko. “Thank you, Captain. I actually came here with a request. I had no idea Quark would choose now of all times to follow me in.”

“What is it?” Sisko asked.

“I would like Commander Worf’s help. Bessra, the man in custody, is refusing to co-operate with me and I need someone to interrogate him. It’s not clear why he wanted to destroy the orb or who he was working with,” he said.

“You think he’s not alone?” Dax asked.

“Few radical idealists are, Commander,” Odo said. “He simply won’t answer any questions.”

Sisko nodded. “I’ll release Worf to help you, Odo. But why him?”

“Bessra has a particular hatred of non-Bajorans,” Odo said. “And a particular fear of klingons.”

“I’ll have Worf come to your office.”

“Appreciated, Captain.” Odo nodded to him and walked out.

Sisko looked at Dax. “Well? How close are we to getting back to normal?”

Dax smiled. “Just give us the go-ahead, Benjamin, and we’ll have this wrapped up before those Bajoran inspectors have to leave.”

“Don’t mention the inspectors,” Sisko groaned, wiping his hands over his face. “They’ve already had three ‘audiences’ with the Emissary since this morning. And all I can do is tell them we have this under control, that everything will be in order very soon… and then watch them tick off ‘sufficient prayer facilities installed’, and ‘sufficient removal of potentially offensive Cardassian authority items’ on their lists.”

“So it’s going well?”

“It’s certainly going,” he sighed.

“Well I’ll get back to the Chief - he’ll want to start setting up this whole transporter rescue beam.” She turned for the door.

“Dax,” he called. She turned back to him. He pointed at the PADD in her hand. “Are you ok with this?”

“Me? Yes. Why?”

“Well the last time we tried something like this and you had to be rescued from a disappearing world by transporter beam… Well. It was rough,” he said gently.

She nodded. “Yes, it was. But this isn’t anything like the same.”

“Glad to hear it.”

She smiled and walked out.

Sisko sat down again, then heard a beep from his comms system. He reached over and tabbed the key. “Sisko here.”

“Ah, Captain!” came an ebullient voice. “We’re down on the promenade, checking the light fixtures with a charming young woman from Security. Would you consider joining us?”

He closed his eyes. “I would be delighted, Inspector Raffik,” he said, forcing a smile into his voice.

“Now now - it’s Ikkal, I’ve told you. Well then. I’ll have that bartender bring some drinks out. You _do_ like Ferengi Stardusters, don’t you?”

Sisko rolled his eyes.

 

-^-

 

Worf rounded the corner of the security office, coming to a stop in front of Odo’s occupied desk. “You wanted to see me, Constable?”

Odo put down his PADD and got up from his chair. “The man in the holding cell - Bessra Nash. He won’t talk.”

Worf glowered. “And why is that my concern?”

“He couldn’t have orchestrated all of this orb-thieving business alone. I’ve done some checking - do you know what we retrieved from the promenade right after you took him down?”

“I could not guess.”

“The pin that Dax thought belonged to her friend. As it turns out, that ‘pin’ was actually a lock-pick built for the express purpose of opening a strongbox just like the one Bajoran vedeks use to keep orbs safely shuttered.”

Worf looked up at the surveillance monitors. “You are worried that he may have associates.”

“I _know_ he has associates - the odds that he could have broken into Bonaam’s shop _and_ found a way to get the pin from Dax without help are very slim indeed,” Odo grunted.

“How can I help?”

“Well it just so happens that Mr Bessra spent some time on a klingon cruiser, serving meals. Apparently, he’s quite nervous of klingons in general.”

Worf nodded briskly. “I shall interrogate him at once. You will have names, dates and any plan he has yet to put into action.” He walked around the desk to the door, pressing the release to step through.

Odo smiled at the table. “I’m beginning to see why Dax likes klingons so much,” he said with satisfaction.

 

-^-

 

Dax shuffled backwards out of the slim opening, pausing to sit back on her heels and wipe her hands together. “Well. The shunt is in and tested - so far it’s holding.”

“Oi - what do you mean ‘so far’?” O’Brien called from his seat. “It’ll work, Commander. Trust me.”

“I hope so. If it doesn’t… you get to explain to Worf why this version of me suddenly shows up two hundred years ago in the historical database,” she said cheekily.

O’Brien cleared his throat and straightened up. He heard a noise and turned around. “Oh,” he managed. “Hello.”

“You are the Engineering Chief,” T’Pol said evenly. She looked up and around without hurry. “And this, I presume, is the space station.”

Dax got up and pulled herself up the stairs. “Commander T’Pol. So the orb is still playing the shell game on us, I see.” She stopped in front of her. “I was just about to beam back over to the _Enterprise_ anyway. Care to join me?”

“That would be advisable,” T’Pol nodded. “Commander Tucker and I were less than forty metres from a large neutrino disturbance when I stepped into a crawlspace.”

“Well we can hope it’s still there,” Dax said. “Kira has been tracking it. With any luck she’s found him _and_ it and we can get this done.”

“Agreed.” She tilted her head at O’Brien. “Chief.”

“Uh - Commander,” he managed.

She laced her hands behind her back and simply walked off. Dax turned to O’Brien. “Wish us luck,” she said.

“Luck,” he nodded.

She followed T’Pol across Ops.

 

-^-

 

Worf glared at the man inside the holding cell. “Why should I believe _anything_ you say?” he roared.

Bessra Nash, curled up in the ball under the cot, gibbered. “It wasn’t my idea! I swear!”

Worf growled at him. Then he simply turned and stormed out.

The door to the brig opened. Odo looked up from his chair. Worf stalked out like a bear with a sore head - until he turned and sealed the door behind him. Then, as if he were a balloon and someone had released the neck, he simply let all the angry atmosphere bleed out of his shoulders, his chest, his face.

“You were correct, Constable,” he said evenly. “He is extremely… _nervous_ around klingons.”

Odo beamed. “What did he tell you?”

Worf put a Starfleet PADD on the desk between them. “He is a member of a group who want Bajor to be separated from the Prophets.”

“What?” Odo demanded. He grasped the PADD and began to read. “I’ve never heard of this group. How long has this been going on?”

“He says less than a year. He could be lying,” Worf said. “However, he did give up the names of two more people who he says helped him with the theft.”

Odo skimmed down. “Hmm. I know _these_ names. One has been in prison before - and the other is a known pick-pocket.”

“That would make sense,” Worf nodded.

“Let’s find these two before they can escape,” Odo said. He got to his feet.

“We must be cautious,” Worf said suddenly.

“What do you mean?”

“He was very insistent that I believe he has friends - and, apparently, on this station. He _also_ said they had access to every part of Deep Space Nine, and weapons-grade cabrodine.”

“That could be used to make an explosive device,” Odo frowned.

“Exactly. Their plan to free Bajor from the wormhole may not be as simple as just destroying a single orb.”

Odo growled something under his breath. “With the station gone, and even the wormhole too, they’d cut Bajor off from everyone - including Starfleet.” He slapped at his communicator. “Odo to Ops.”

“Sisko here. What is it, Constable?” came a voice.

“Captain, we have a problem.”

“What kind of problem?” Sisko asked.

Worf tapped at his communicator. “We have to assume there is a bomb somewhere on the station.”

 


	9. NINE

 

 

T’Pol crawled under the thick pipe and squeezed past another one. “It’s here!” she called.

“Well there’s no way I’m gettin’ through there - and not with this box,” came Tucker’s voice.

She looked back, then down at the green orb, shining away by itself, a few inches from the metal grating. “Then we are at an impasse.” She crouched slowly, appreciating the sudden shine to the surly spin. A tickling began behind her eyes, clouding her vision, drawing her to a brighter, happier place, a place not present in space but in _time_. The rush of silence, of peace and serenity cloaked her with abrupt warmth and she let it slide over her every nerve. A slew of images penetrated the happy haze; her mother, Tucker, Kos, Soval, Tucker, _Enterprise_ , Andorians, Tucker—

She blinked and forced the entity out of her head. As she did so, she realised the green orb had risen slightly in front of her.

She stretched a hand out.

It vanished.

She looked at her hand. And then she put both to her knees and got up again, turning back to the pipe.

“You ok?” Tucker asked as she slithered through the gap.

“The orb has again left.”

He frowned at her but picked up the strongbox. “So now where?”

 

-^-

 

Bessra was grabbed by the scruff of the neck and heaved forwards so fast he nearly head-butted the doors to the prefect office. Not wanting to be the recipient of Bajoran sweat, fear and dead skin cells, the door jerked open to avoid the humanoid battering ram. Bessra stumbled inside, Worf close behind him. Bessra looked up into the particularly unimpressed face of Sisko.

He squeaked in fear and his hands came up in protection. “I’ve told you everything!”

Sisko nodded to Worf. He turned and headed out of the door. It whisked shut behind him.

“There’s one more thing I need to know,” Sisko ground out. He stepped closer to the shorter man, who cowered accordingly. “Where is the explosive device?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I was never told. I wasn’t part of that crowd. All I did was get the lock-pick from my contact and use it to open the box!”

“Who was responsible for planting the device?” Sisko demanded.

“One of the others!”

“ _Which one?_ ” he roared. “I don’t have _time_ for this, Bessra! I have nearly two thousand people on this station and _I’ll be damned_ if a single one is going to be harmed by your juvenile idea that one race of people is an island!” he hurled. The Bajoran took a step back. Sisko grabbed his shirt front. “You will tell me, Mister Bessra, or I’ll hand you over to Major Kira!”

“She tr- tried to shoot me!”

“And what do you think she’ll do if she gets back here and finds out that _you_ \- a _Bajoran from her own province_ \- conspired to hurt other Bajorans on this station?” he shouted.

Bessra struggled and squeaked in abject terror. “They would have targeted the empty spaces!” he cried in desperation. “They don’t want to hurt Bajorans - they just want us to be free!”

“What empty spaces?”

“Cargo bays! Uh - uh - empty quarters! Anywhere they could set off the device but still give people time to evacuate!”

Sisko let him go, stepping back one. He slapped his communicator soundly. “Mister Worf. Meet up with Odo - I want you two or organise a sweep of this entire station for the explosive device. Our prisoner says it might be in a cargo bay or anywhere empty of Bajorans.”

“Aye, Captain,” came the response. “Odo reports he has this minute apprehended one of Bessra’s party.”

“So ask _him_ where the bomb is,” Sisko said.

“He already has, Captain. However, this man says he was only used to steal the lock-picking device from Dax.”

“Brilliant.” Sisko rolled his eyes. “Well tell Odo good work from me - while you’re getting the place swept for that device. Sisko out.” He looked down at Bessra.

He straightened up and tried to compose himself. Unsuccessfully. “Wha - what are you going to do to me?”

Sisko glared at him. “You are going to help up locate the bomb, Bessra. Because if it goes off, you are the _very last person_ who will be evacuated from this station.”

Bessra swallowed.

 

-^-

 

The room was dark, empty, silent.

Until the bright green light blinked into existence by the door. It revolved slowly, enjoying its elliptical journey back on itself.

The door slid open and Kira’s head popped round the edge. “It’s here,” she whispered hoarsely.

“Tell it to stay,” Dax said from behind her. She flipped open her communicator. “Dax to T’Pol. It’s here. We’re going to stay back until you can get here.”

There was a quiet response. “Acknowledged.”

Dax flipped it shut. “You know, I kind of like these old devices. Much more fun than ours.”

“That’s great,” Kira said, waving her backwards. She stepped back from the door but kept her foot in the way to prop it open. “Now we just have to hope that they get here quick.”

Dax kept backing up until she was on the opposite side of the corridor. “Do you know how to get it into the box?”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Kira said quietly. “And what Trip said.”

“Oh, he’s _Trip_ now is he?” Dax teased.

“You’re just jealous that he changed my mind about staying here when you couldn’t.”

Dax let out an easy smile. “Whatever works. I’m just happy you’re _not_ still intent on staying.”

“I think… It might be a relief that I _don’t_ have to stay.”

Dax nodded, her humour gone. “I understand,” she said. They heard voices and Dax looked left. “Wait here.”

She disappeared off down the corridor. Kira looked back inside the room, her eyes interrogating the orb with keen appreciation. Finally boots came up next to her, accompanied by a steel box. She turned to look at it.

“Ok then,” she said, getting to her feet. She took it from Dax carefully, then looked back at Tucker and T’Pol. They were standing just behind Dax, the worry in the corridor almost palpable.

“You got this?” Tucker asked carefully.

Kira nodded to him. “Time we all went home.” She looked at T’Pol. “Thank you - everyone on your ship. For everything.”

“It was agreeable to work with such accomplished and competent officers,” she said, inclining her head slightly. “A welcome change from a ship with a majority of human males.”

“Hey,” Tucker protested.

Dax grinned. She took a step toward him. “Tell Archer - keep going. He’s doing it right,” she said.

“Oh. Uh. Ok,” he nodded.

“And thanks. For being the first warp five ship,” she added cheekily. He smiled, and then she stepped forward and wrapped her arms round him, getting in a grateful hug. Thrown for a second, he managed to pat at her back politely. She turned her mouth toward his ear. “When she asks,” she whispered, “you’ll say yes.” She pulled back. He just blinked at her, confused. She nodded to T’Pol, then looked at Kira. “Well?” she asked.

Kira met Tucker’s curious gaze. “Thanks, Trip. Let’s get this done.” She looked down at the strongbox. She opened it up and hefted it to lie across her arms, the open side up. “Tell Chief O’Brien to get that confinement beam ready.”

Dax flipped open her communicator. “Dax to O’Brien.”

“O’Brien here.”

“We’re ready, Chief. Is the transporter good to go?”

“No - do _not_ box it up yet,” O’Brien blurted. “We have a situation here on the station.”

“Typical,” Kira hissed.

“Hang on, sir,” O’Brien said.

The four of them looked at the comms device, listening carefully. A minute ticked by, maybe two. Tucker was just opening his mouth when they all jumped from surprise.

“It’s here, Captain!” O’Brien called.

“Where?” came Sisko’s voice.

“Behind the packing crates, right here in the corner of cargo bay three. If this goes up it’ll take out the structural integrity - it’d take a few hours, but the station would be untenable for ninety percent of the life forms that currently live on it,” O’Brien said.

“What is it? An explosive device?” Kira gasped.

“Yes, Major,” came Sisko’s voice. “The man you stopped from destroying the orb in the first place is a terrorist, trying to separate Bajor from the Prophets.”

Kira’s face went dark. Dax put her free hand out for calm. “Ben - do you have the device there? Do you need anything?”

There was silence. Finally:

“Oh… bloody hell.”

“What, Chief?” Kira demanded. “What is it?”

“It _was_ here - just recently,” O’Brien said. “There are strong traces of cabrodine. But… it’s not here now.”

“Well then someone moved it,” Kira said. “Just follow the cabrodine residue.”

“I can’t, Major,” he replied slowly. “It doesn’t go anywhere. But there’s a really _really_ strong displacement of something else right next to it.”

“Of what?” Tucker asked.

“Neutrinos,” O’Brien said.

“Oh no,” Kira groaned. She looked at Dax. “Does that mean it could be anywhere on this ship?”

“There’s a bomb on this ship?” Tucker gasped.

“I suggest we find and remove the device _before_ we let Major Kira persuade the orb to enter the containment unit,” T’Pol said.

“Agreed,” Dax nodded. “Benjamin - we’re going to need help finding the explosive device over here.”

“I’m sending Chief O’Brien. Between him and Commander Tucker, you should have all you need,” Sisko said.

“We’ll let you know as soon as it’s disarmed,” Dax said.

“We’ll be waiting. Good luck, Old Man,” Sisko replied.

Dax flipped the communicator shut and attached it to the loop in her uniform. “Kira - you’ll have to stay here. Hopefully you’ll have a calming effect on the orb and it won’t shift again.”

“We can hope.” She put the box down, closed the lids, and sat on it.

Dax looked at T’Pol. “How are you at defusing cabrodine explosives?”

“I have not encountered such a substance,” the Vulcan said.

“If it’s cabrodine then it’s probably coupled with infernite,” Kira said. “Be careful with that.”

“Is that similar to cavarite?” Tucker asked.

“Uh - yes, I think it is,” Kira said.

“Then I got this. When’s your engineer arrivin’?” he asked.

“Let’s go and see,” Dax said. “Which way to the transporter room?”

T’Pol waved a hand out and Dax walked off. Tucker paused, then looked back at Kira. “You sure you’re ok back here?”

“Trust me,” Kira said, “I’m in the safest place.”

He nodded uneasily and then hurried to catch up with the two women. They were already discussing the similarities to infernite and cavarite.

“I understand,” T’Pol said. “I have one question.”

“Go ahead,” Dax replied.

“If the main ingredient is cabrodine, which we have no knowledge of, why are we accompanying you to the defusing of the device?”

“Because I don’t want that orb to move - and it seems to whenever there are too many non-Bajorans around it,” she said.

“Is that what Major Kira is? Bajoran?” Tucker asked.

“Yes,” Dax smiled. “Any other questions?”

“Yeah - a big one,” said Tucker. “Why did Captain Sisko call you ‘Old Man’?”

Dax smiled. “Let’s collect Chief O’Brien and find that bomb, shall we?”

 

-^-

 

“You there! Stop!” Worf shouted.

The woman simply ran. Worf pounded after her down the corridor. He put a hand out to try to guide his desperate fling around the corner. His skid and bump into the far side of the corridor was inevitable. He pushed himself off and sprinted on.

The woman skipped over a structural rib in the floor and barrelled on. She flashed round another corner and thumped at a door release.

Worf pulled his Starfleet phaser and skidded round the corner - but the place was empty.

The woman leant back on the inside of the door, panting for dear life. She glanced around the room before she fumbled for a communication device in her trouser pocket. She raised it to her face. “Get me out of here! Quick! There’s a klingon outside this door with a gun!”

There was a hiss of momentary static. “Negative. You did your job. Now you’re on your own.”

“No!” she cried. “Shabek! You promised me you’d take care of me when the station went up! Shabek!”

The rug in front of her feet suddenly rippled. It glooped into an orangey, gooey mass - before it shot up to unfurl in large, dark orange waves. Even as she stared, the tower turned into the station’s security chief.

“Well well well,” Odo said, folding his arms. “So this room _was_ booked under your alias. I think you’ll want to come with me, Perwin.”

“You!” She turned and reached for the door release. It shot open.

Worf, in the corridor, spun on the balls of his feet to face her. “Stay where you are!” he roared.

Perwin took a step back in fear. Odo grabbed her by the shoulder. “Now now, Worf,” Odo said calmly. “We need her to tell us what kind of bomb it is.”

“Never!” Perwin blurted.

Odo looked at her. His head went to Worf. Then back to Perwin. “Here,” he said, shoving her at the klingon.

Worf drew himself up, baring his teeth with a growl.

Perwin ran back until she had put Odo between them. “Ok,” she said in a small voice. “But… I want protection.”

“He’s a Starfleet officer,” Odo grumped. “Which means unfortunately he can’t harm you.”

“Not from _him_ ,” Perwin said. “From the syndicate.”

“Oh so it’s a syndicate now, is it?” Odo said. “Well. Tell us who they all are and how we find them, and we’ll make sure you live a long, comfortable life.”

“This woman is a traitor to her people!” Worf protested.

“Exactly. I hear Kran-Tobal prison is relatively comfortable,” Odo smiled. He looked back at Perwin. “First, you will tell us the exact nature of the explosive device and how we stop it.”

Perwin eyed him. Then Worf. Then she sagged with all of her soul. “I _knew_ this was a bad idea. I said it, over and over, but no-one ever listens to me.”

“Now’s your chance to be heard,” Odo smiled. Then his face lost every trace of pleasantness. “Start talking.”

 

-^-

 

O’Brien materialised on the transporter pad. He reached down and picked up his engineer’s case - and then stopped dead.

His surroundings had arrested his complete attention. As someone started talking at him, approaching him from the controls, all he could do was take in as much of the wee transporter room as possible.

“Chief?” said a voice. “Sounds weird me callin’ you that. But hey - you ok?”

He blinked and shook his head, turning to see a slightly younger man in a blue uniform watching him. “Me? Oh. Right - yes. Hi. Miles O’Brien.” He stuck his hand out.

“Trip Tucker.” He shook his hand. “So you like the ship, then?” he asked with a smile.

“Well it’s funny - I’ve seen pictures but never… I never thought I’d see it for real,” O’Brien smiled. “Shall we get to work?”

“Any time you like,” Tucker nodded. He waved to the only exit. “The science guys have a lead on where it is. They’re just waitin’ for us to get there and shut the damn thing down.”

“Right.” He stepped off the platform quickly and headed in the direction currently being pointed out to him.

Tucker fell into step beside him and they made good time along the corridor. “So Commander Dax heard from your Captain Sisko,” Tucker said. “Your security got the last person in the terrorist ring and they squeezed the bomb make-up out of her.”

“Odo’s pretty good like that,” O’Brien said. “What are we dealing with?”

“Something called cabrodine mixed with infernite - which I’m pretty sure is a lot like cavarite.”

“Pretty much,” O’Brien nodded. “Did they get the exact mix?”

“He said ‘sixty cabrodine’ and ‘thirty-eight infernite’ - and something called dolamide thrown in for good measure.”

O’Brien gave a small whistle. “Tricky. But now we know there’s dolamide in there, it’ll be a lot easier to defuse.”

“It will?”

“I’ll need your help. How steady are your hands?” he smiled.

Tucker pursed his lips and gestured him to the door of Engineering.

 

-^-

 

Inspector Raffik Ikkal lounged in the grey furniture, a small tea cup in her hand. The other was along the back of the sofa as she watched young Poraal Torruna pace up and down the room, her arms firmly folded.

“Calm down, dear girl,” Raffik smiled. “I’m sure Captain Sisko has control of whatever’s going on around here.”

“It’s not the Emissary I’m worried about,” she said.

“Then what is it? You did what you came here to do. You handed the orb over to Major Kira, and you got it here safely. It’s not your fault that it was involved in a theft.”

“But this time bubble, this… bending of what should be… Maybe it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have brought the orb here.”

Raffik sipped the tea, let it warm her all over, and then reached forward and put the cup down. “You can’t second-guess the Prophets, dear. It never works out well. All we can do now is hold on for the ride they’ve set us on.”

Poraal stopped pacing and faced her. “How can you be so calm? We’re stuck in a time bubble and we might never get out.”

“Because we will be freed, or we won’t. But life won’t end,” she shrugged. “Either way, it’s the will of the Prophets and it’s for a reason. I have no idea what that might be, but then again, I’m not one of them. I’m sure it’s none of my business.”

Poraal wiped her hands down her face. “I can only imagine you in the same room with Kai Winn,” she groaned.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Raffik said darkly. “I had real money on Bareil ending up Kai. Looks like I ‘backed the wrong horse’, as Captain Sisko would say.”

“You used money to make a wager?” Poraal asked in surprise.

“Not quite. I bet a few ministers a grain store or two that Bareil would run for Kai and get it. I was wrong. For my sins, I ended up an Inspector.” She paused. “Still, I’m better off. I actually make more of an impact doing this than I ever did running around after council ministers.”

“Oh,” Poraal said. She crossed to a chair and sat. “Do you think we’ll get home ok?”

“Definitely,” Raffik nodded. Then she grinned in a rather wicked fashion. “Although your definition of ‘home’ may be open to interpretation.”

Poraal sighed as she let her head fall into her hands.

 

-^-

 

Tucker stood back, his arms folded, to watch O’Brien wave a palm-sized device around the wall. _Enterprise_ crew members walked to and fro, barely able to stop themselves from staring.

“Don’t suppose I could take a look at that, could I?” Tucker asked.

“’Fraid not,” O’Brien said with a smile. “This isn’t Starfleet issue.”

“How’s that?”

Something lit up and made an excited noise within the device. “It’s Major Kira’s. They’re better at detecting certain metals than ours.”

“And why is that?”

O’Brien turned and looked at him. “Look… if you’re anything like me when it comes to engineering and tech, then right now you’re trying really hard not to snatch this out of my hand and take it apart to see how it works. But I can’t let you see it - and I really can’t explain why it’s better at picking up traces of explosives than Starfleet models.”

Tucker nodded, letting his head tilt to one side. “I get it, believe me. But…”

O’Brien smiled. “Yeah.”

“So what are those lights and fancy sounds telling you?” Tucker asked.

“There are traces of dolamide behind this panel.”

“Let’s get it open then.” Tucker picked up his own case from the carpeted hallway, setting it closer to the wall and opening it up. He looked over a few tools before selecting one and then getting to his feet. His left hand slid across the metal surface of the panel, until his fingertips tripped over a slight ripple. He rubbed over it again, then brought his thin tool to bear. “You might want to catch this,” he said over his shoulder. He switched on the tool and it produced a bright, hypnotic beam of light that immediately started burning through the metal wall. In no time he had produced a two foot square pattern, and as he brought the tool back up to the top, the now liberated section began to groan as it shifted, dying to leap out and smack them both in the toes.

O’Brien had his hands in place; as the tool cut the last of the metal free, the panel toppled outwards. O’Brien hefted it in his palms before juggling it to sit on the carpet. “Right then.” He peered inside, as Tucker flicked off the tool and let it dangle by his side.

They stared.

“Uh… we may want to get that out of there first,” Tucker mused.

“Ready when you are.”

They looked at each other for a moment.

“You got family?” Tucker asked.

“Wife, two kids. You?”

Tucker rolled his eyes. “ _I’ll_ lift it out. You… stand back, or something.”

“If that thing goes off, it’s not going to matter _where_ I’m standing.”

“Fair point.” Tucker dropped the tool back into the case and then unfastened the velcro holding the end of his sleeves closed. He unzipped the sleeves back as high as they would go, then proceeded to roll up what was in the way. “Here we go. Whatever I drop - _please_ catch.”

“Absolutely.”

Tucker reached in. His hands slid under a large slim box, perhaps a foot wide. He kept it very flat and very level as he gently guided it out of the gap he had made. A few wires were sprouting from one edge, lights around the top indicating happy industriousness. He stepped back from the wall.

O’Brien ran the Bajoran tricorder over it quickly. “Set it down.”

Tucker dropped to one knee and placed it on the carpet as carefully as he could. “Well?”

O’Brien knelt down. “This is definitely the device. We need to open it.”

“We doin’ this here or in Engineering?” Tucker asked.

O’Brien re-read the diagnostic data on the tricorder. “According to this, we’ve got about four minutes before it goes off.”

Tucker met his gaze for a moment. Then he fished for his communicator in his pocket and flipped it open. “Tucker to Captain Archer.”

A beat, then: “Archer here. What’s your status?”

“We’ve found the device, Captain. It’s got a four minute clock on it. We’re about to fix that.”

“Understood. We’ll stop all traffic to your location - hopefully minimise any distractions.”

“Thanks, Captain.”

“Is there anything else we can do?”

“Nope,” Tucker said. He glanced at O’Brien. “I think we’ve got this. I’ll give you an update in about four minutes.”

There was a pause. “Good luck, Trip. Be careful.”

Tucker appraised the communicator for a long moment. “Thanks, Captain.” He nudged it closed against his leg and dropped it to the carpet. He sat back on his heels and regarded the other engineer. “Well then.”

O’Brien smiled. “Let’s get to it.”

Tucker looked behind him and then snagged his toolcase, dragging it closer. He fished inside for a moment and came up with a very small version of the cutting tool he had already used. He held it up for O’Brien’s inspection. “It’s a lot cooler and more precise than the other cutter; it should do the job.”

“Let me get a schematic,” O’Brien said. He scanned the device slowly, one end to the other, with the Bajoran tricorder, then back the other way. He pressed at buttons and waited. “Ok. I think I’ve got a pretty good x-ray view of this thing.” He read slowly. “You want to… open the small edge on your right like a Christmas present. Do not go along the edges.”

Tucker flicked on the beam on the tiny torch and listened to it hiss in eager anticipation of cutting something. He brought it to bear gingerly, cutting a very thin, very neat diagonal line across the end. He moved it up and repeated the action from the other corner, until a large x had been scored into the metal. “Now?”

O’Brien wiped his forehead with his free hand. “Lever the triangles out. Then you can slide out the tray of equipment inside. Don’t touch the sides with it.”

Tucker set down the cutting tool and picked up what looked like pliers, using them to bend the triangles of cut metal toward him. When they were all open wider than the box itself, he laid out on the carpet on his front and used the pliers to reach inside.

“Careful,” O’Brien said quietly.

Tucker smiled. “You’ll see your kids again, Chief. Don’t worry.”

“It’s my wife I’m worried about. If I get back to DS9 with an arm blown off I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Tucker grinned. “I’m sure it comes from a place of love.”

“Don’t you forget it.” He watched as Tucker slid out a metal tray, littered with tiny boxes and then two large squares of faint blue material that resembled the universe’s biggest cubes of Blu-tack. “The one on your left there is cabrodine,” he said. “That’s inert unless charged.”

“It’s charged,” Tucker observed.

“Oh. The other is the infernite - that’s unstable whether it’s charged or not.”

“Understood.”

“The dolamide is in the wires supplying charge,” O’Brien said. “We need to pull those wires from the infernite without setting it off.”

“That’s it?” Tucker scoffed.

“Heat - _any_ heat - will set it off,” O’Brien said. “Including friction from sliding wires.”

“How the hell did he get it _in_ there in the first place?” Tucker asked.

“Probably had the infernite chilled.”

“Then we just chill it down again to get it out.” Tucker thought for a moment. “How long on the clock?”

“Uh… three minutes and twelve seconds.”

“I can’t get anyone up from Engineering with coolant in that time.” He bit his lower lip in thought. “Can you do me a favour?”

“What?”

“Can you cut a hole in that wall and find a coolant pipe? We can steal escaping coolant from there.”

“Got you,” O’Brien nodded. He turned the tricorder around and set it to one side of Tucker’s nose so he could see the countdown. Then he got up and went through Tucker’s toolcase, finding the original cutter. “Whereabouts?”

“Right now I don’t care. There should be three large pipes somewhere behind that wall. We want the thinnest one.”

O’Brien began to cut, describing a large rectangle until it fell inwards. He grabbed the edge and hefted it out, leaving it by the side of the prone engineer. He crouched and looked in. “Now… when I cut this, it’s just going to gush out, right?”

“Right. I didn’t think that far ahead,” Tucker admitted.

O’Brien smiled. “That’s us engineers alright.” He leant in and looked the inside over very carefully. “Is this Starfleet coolant or have you made modifications?”

“Nah, still original,” he said.

“Damn.”

“Why?”

“Because it’ll freeze organic material on contact.” He rubbed his hands together. “Well then. Time to test Doctor Bashir’s medical zeal.”

“Wait,” Tucker said. “You can’t just—”

“It’s me or the ship - and possibly the station,” O’Brien said. “This cannot be the only ship named _Enterprise_. You have no idea how important it is that this is _not_ the last ship named _Enterprise_.”

Tucker pursed his lips. “But…”

O’Brien straightened his back. “You’ll owe me one, history.” He reached in toward the pipe, the cutting tool at the ready.

“Wait,” Tucker urged.

“Look, this is the only way,” O’Brien said. “Unless we could—.” He gasped. Then smiled. He looked over his shoulder at Tucker. “Hang on. I’ve got an idea.”

 


	10. TEN

 

 

Kira eyed the orb as she sat on the box, her every nerve taut as piano wire. She heard Dax’s voice outside in the corridor and then boots in the carpet. When she looked over her shoulder, she saw the Trill with Commander T’Pol.

“Is it still present?” T’Pol asked.

“Still here,” Kira said. “It’s just… spinning away, minding its own business. For now.”

The Vulcan nodded, then backed up again to stand with Dax. “Do we know if there has been any progress with finding the explosive device?”

Dax nodded. “Sisko says the boys have found it. They’re defusing it now.”

“When will we know?” Kira asked from the doorway.

Dax looked at her. “Either way… in about two minutes.”

 

-^-

 

O’Brien stepped over Tucker and picked up his toolcase. “I really hate to do this,” he grumbled.

“Tip it out! Who cares! We’ve got less than two minutes here,” Tucker cried.

O’Brien turned the box over and emptied it out on the carpet. Then he went back to the exposed pipes and set it down under the thinnest one. “Ok. Give me… a second…” He got a good grip on the thicker pipe by his head before leaning in and turning on the cutter. “Here goes everything,” he muttered. He began to cut through the top side of the pipe.

He jerked back as bright green liquid spilled out in a rather effective fountain, arcing up quite high before succumbing to gravity and bending gracefully in a tight curve to splatter down toward the floor. O’Brien leant back and poked his foot in. His boot nudged at the toolcase to place it under the leak.

“Is it workin’?” Tucker called.

“Perfectly.”

“Great. Don’t wait for it to fill before you try to pick it up.”

O’Brien watched the thin fountain splash and begin to pool in the case. “How long?”

“One minute and thirty seconds.”

He huffed and leant in. His hands went to the sides of the case and he whipped it out from under the spray. He felt white-hot splashes on his hands. He simply turned and got his feet out of the hole he had made. He carried the case the few feet to the engineer lying out along the carpet and set it down. “That was starting to get heavy,” he said quietly.

“You ok?” Tucker asked, his eyes on the other man’s hands. Bright red welts were already showing up where tiny splashes had caught him.

“I’ll live - if you get on with it.”

Tucker already had two pairs of long-nosed pliers in his hands. He opened them wide and then pushed them into the coolant still slopping around in the case. “When I pick this up, can you slide that closer?”

“Do it.” O’Brien put his hands to the edges.

Tucker got a knee under him and sat up, pulling the pliers from the coolant. He hovered over the bomb tray. His eyes went to the tricorder and down again. “One minute and ten,” he said under his breath. He pushed the pliers into the large cube of infernite. O’Brien squeezed his eyes shut. Nothing happened. Tucker used the pliers to lift the cube. “Ok, now.”

O’Brien shoved the case across the carpet to be under the block of explosive. Tucker began to lower it slowly. The coolant slapped at the sides, sending up splashes so small as to be invisible. He grimaced but lowered the cube into the waiting bath.

It hissed slightly. Both engineers hunched their shoulders then froze.

Silence.

Tucker’s eyes flicked up to the clock. “Fifty seconds.”

He lowered it still further. The handles of the pliers began to feel heavy, cold, in his hands. He opened the jaws to let the brick go - and it began to float, the wire on top.

“Son of a—.” He gripped the explosive again and pushed it under the surface. The metal of the plier jaws began to turn blue, then slight purple, under the effects of the green coolant. “Ok. You’re going to have to pull that wire out.”

“Tell me when.”

“Wait.”

O’Brien looked at the tricorder. “Forty seconds.”

“It’s not cold enough.”

Silence.

“Thirty seconds.”

“ _Wait_.”

Silence.

“Ok, that’s it - twenty seconds - I’m pulling it.” O’Brien leant over and looped the thin wire around his index finger. He held it tight. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

O’Brien looked at him. “Been a pleasure, Chief.”

Tucker smiled. “That it has, Chief.”

O’Brien pulled.

 

-^-

 

The orb spun higher, faster. Kira got to her feet as she watched. “Wait,” she said quietly, her hands up in surrender. “Please - stay.”

It continued to speed.

She took a step forward. “ _Please_ \- we need you to stay.”

It raised higher, sending green tendrils out a few feet in all directions.

“ _I_ need you,” Kira blurted. “ _Please_. You have to stay. If you don’t, why should I leave Bajor as it is? Why should I believe you came here because it was home? If you think of Bajor as home, no matter what state it’s in… then perhaps Trip is _right_ , and we got off lightly. But you can’t leave us.”

The tendrils withdrew. The orb began to sink to its original resting place. But still it spun faster.

“I’m sorry - I’m sorry I shot at him but got you. All this is my fault, I know that. Just - _please_ \- let me make it right. I can get you home. I can get us _both_ home. If you’ll let me.”

The orb slowed gradually. Tendrils swept out toward her, stroked over her face, retreated to the spinning source.

Kira just watched, at a loss to do much else.

 

-^-

 

Tucker opened one eye. He stared at the wire now disconnected from the mass of freezing explosive under the pliers in his hands.

“Oh thank God,” O’Brien heaved. He pulled the wire free of the other end too, sliding the tray of explosives and parts further away from the case of coolant - and then he sat back on his arse with a thump. “Nice work, Chief.”

Tucker looked at him. “Uh… going to need your help here.”

O’Brien scrambled back up and looked at the pliers in his hands. Now fully purple, the handles were starting to hiss. With horror, he realised they were steadily freezing themselves _into_ Tucker’s skin, layer by layer.

“I can’t let go,” Tucker ground out.

“Ok, stay still,” O’Brien said. He snatched up the fallen communicator. “O’Brien to Captain Archer - bomb is defused, sir. We need medical help _right now_ ,” he said. “Permission to call for Doctor Bashir if it’s faster, sir?”

A pause, an eternity as Tucker kept his mouth clamped shut.

“This is Archer. Doctor Phlox is on his way. Your Doctor Bashir has been called. What’s happening up there - uh - Chief?”

“Device is defused, sir. It still needs squaring away. We need a clean-up crew experienced in liquid coolant leaks,” O’Brien said.

“I’ll send them up. Good work, Chief. What’s the status of _my_ Chief?”

O’Brien looked at Tucker’s face, doing its best to bottle up fantastic amounts of pain. “He’s been better, sir. But he’ll live.”

“We all will, Mister O’Brien. Thank you. Archer out.”

O’Brien changed the setting on the communicator. “O’Brien to Sisko.”

“Chief! What’s the news?” came the eager voice.

“Bomb is defused, sir. I’m told Julian’s on his way over.”

“Yes he is - how bad is it?”

“It’s Chief Engineer Tucker, sir. He’ll be ok once Julian sees to him.”

“Then thanks are in order. Do you need anything else?” Sisko asked.

“Tell you what - a pint would go down very well right now, sir.”

“I’m sure. You take your time over there, Chief - we’ll expect you back when you’re ready.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” He closed the communicator. “Hold on - two doctors are on their way,” he said quietly.

“And here I was about to let go,” Tucker managed through gritted teeth. “You know what worries me?”

“What?” O’Brien asked.

“It’s not if I’ll get feeling back in my fingers so I can keep bein’ an engineer,” he said.

“Then what?”

“It’s the tide comin’ this way. You might want to move.”

O’Brien looked around to see a black stain creeping out from the hole in the wall. Coolant was slowly oozing toward them as if daring them to stare it down.

“Bollocks,” O’Brien grunted. “I cut the top of the pipe cos I thought once the level had dropped the flow would be _below_ the hole.”

“We have pressure regulators - if the flow drops it pumps it through faster to make up for it,” Tucker grunted. “Don’t you?”

“Not any more - because it caused things like this,” O’Brien said. He scrambled to his feet and hurried around, shoving all of the loose tools away from the tide, then turning the box around. Tucker shuffled around with it, and together they moved him, and his precious tools, to the other side of the corridor.

“So,” Tucker managed, his face now quite red from exertion. “Your wife. Happy you do this for a livin’, is she?”

“Absolutely not,” O’Brien smiled. “What about you? Who tells _you_ off when you regularly save the ship from explosions, random alien attacks, warring races, power failures and whatever hits you at four o’clock on some idle Tuesday?”

Tucker let out a scoff that would have been a laugh under normal circumstances. “Another officer on board. She’s going to have a field day with this little fiasco.”

“Oh aye? Is she responsible for incident report forms?” O’Brien asked. His smile turned sly. “Or is it more than that?”

“Some days I wonder. Some days I do wonder.” He looked at O’Brien. “You know what’s reassuring about this whole thing?”

“I can’t begin to guess,” O’Brien said.

“Well… you’re from my future. And they still need engineering chiefs.”

“Are you kidding?” O’Brien said. “Their worlds would crumble without us - and they know it. Oh, they pretend we’re just here because Starfleet demands it, but they know they wouldn’t get a few star systems down the road without us.”

Tucker smiled, despite the clenched jaw and red face. “If I had bourbon, I’d drink to that.”

“Bourbon’s for children. Now _whiskey_ , on the other hand…”

Tucker grunted out a laugh. “Well it’s a pity we’ll never get to test that theory, Chief.”

“Miles,” he smiled.

“Trip,” he replied. “I would shake your hand, but…”

“Where is that doctor of yours?” O’Brien asked.

“Probably running through the corridors, shouting at people to get out of his way.”

“Shouting is seldom necessary,” came a voice from behind them. Tucker looked up and O’Brien turned in his seat. A taller gentleman was standing behind them, clearly neither human nor happy. “Now then. What have you done to yourself this time Commander, hmm?” Doctor Phlox asked.

O’Brien got up and moved back. The doctor produced a case and sat down next to him.

“I kinda got myself frozen to these things,” Tucker said.

“Rash of you, Commander,” Phlox said with maximum disapproval.

“It was that or let the ship blow up.”

“That stuff is still unstable,” O’Brien said. “We can’t risk taking it out of the coolant.”

“Hmm,” Phlox mused, looking Tucker’s hands over very carefully. “What I need… is… another pair of hands and some… Oh, that’s in Sickbay. Hmm.”

“Can I be of some assistance?” said a new voice.

O’Brien stood up. “Julian! Trip’s hands are frozen to the metal pliers and we can’t remove them from the freezing coolant.”

Julian Bashir walked around them all. “Oh. Hello,” he said to Phlox with a bright smile. “Am I glad I got to meet you. Maybe we can chat when all this is over.”

“Well there may be time later,” Phlox said. “For now, though—”

“Fellas,” Tucker interrupted. “I think the cold is spreading to my wrists, here.”

“Right, yes,” Bashir said. He crouched and ran a Starfleet tricorder over the entire affair. “Got it. Ok. Doctor Phlox, would you be kind enough to assist me? I have equipment here that can separate his skin from the metal, but I need more hands to do it - if you’ll excuse the phrase.”

“I’d be delighted, Doctor Julian,” Phlox beamed.

O’Brien stood back to let them work, folding his arms and looking around the state of the corridor. He wandered over to the tide, seeing it was still seeping its way across the corridor in an ever increasing semi circle. He shook his head sadly. “Should have remembered that about old Starfleet coolant,” he sighed.

“Sir?” came a worried voice from next to him.

He turned and saw a younger woman looking at him so nervously he realised how it must have felt to be Worf. “Yes?”

“We’re the clean-up crew, sir.” She nodded to the three people behind her, all of them wearing long, thick engineering gloves up to their elbows.

“Oh. Right. Sorry,” he said, standing back. “Thanks.”

“Thank _you_ , sir,” she smiled.

He smiled as they got to work assessing the mess he had made. Hearing more happy voices, he turned and found Tucker sat back against the wall, his red raw hands raised in front of him, now featuring missing chunks of skin in strange, labyrinthine patterns - and the box now in Bashir’s firm grip.

“I think we’ll repatriate this to the station, don’t you?” he was saying.

“I’ll take the Commander to Sickbay,” Phlox said. “You know, it’s a very great shame we won’t get that time to spend chatting after all,” he said to Bashir.

“Well… I could help you to treat the Chief here,” Bashir offered.

O’Brien walked over. “ _I’ll_ take that back to the station. You two get this poor man to Sickbay.”

Bashir grinned. “Thanks, Miles. I’ll square this with Sisko.”

“Just go,” he said.

Phlox and Bashir took one of Tucker’s arms each, and between them they had him on his feet.

O’Brien shook his head. Then he looked at the woman who was directing the others to repair the coolant leak. “Excuse me,” he said.

She turned and smiled at him. “Yes, sir.”

“Chief,” he said. “Just Chief.”

“Then… yes, Chief?”

“We need to get rid of this infernite. Then I can remove the rest of the device.”

“Right you are, Chief,” she said. She turned to another crew member. “Ok, here we go. I need a chemical bath with standard temperature filters and enough sealant to gum up a cargo bay. Go.”

The crew member turned and hurried off.

O’Brien smiled. “Sometimes I miss Starfleet ships.”

 

-^-

 

Dax closed the communicator and looked at T’Pol. “The site is clean - the defused bomb is back on our station; everything’s under control,” she said.

T’Pol nodded. “Then we should—”

“Commander Tucker is in Sickbay,” she added quietly.

T’Pol paused. Then she drew her shoulders back, laced her hands behind her, and regarded the Trill with complete poise. “Is he seriously injured?”

“No. Just surface damage - Doctor Phlox and our Doctor Bashir will have him fixed up in the next half hour.”

T’Pol inclined her head in thought. “Then there is no logical reason for me to visit Sickbay.”

“Except you’ll have to report on this whole explosives thing to Captain Archer, and in order to do that you’ll need to know the facts first-hand. —So to speak.”

T’Pol lifted both eyebrows for a moment before she faced Dax. “Agreed.” She inclined her head and walked off down the corridor.

Dax grinned and then looked over at Kira. “As soon we know everyone’s home but us… we can get this boxed up, right?”

“At _last_ ,” Kira heaved. “I feel like I’m babysitting the most petulant child in the universe.”

“Been there, done that,” Dax said under her breath. She opened her communicator again. “Dax to Sisko. Can you let us know when everyone’s ready, Benjamin? We’re still sitting on an impatient orb over here.”

“Julian is just appearing in Ops now, Old Man,” came his reply. “We’re just making sure we have all our people back. Miles is at his post, readying your confinement beams.”

“Understood.” She closed the communicator and folded her arms.

Kira sat on the box, let her elbows land on her knees, and her chin fall into her hands. “You know, while we’re waiting, we should get someone to bring the vedek’s orb container from the temple at home.”

Dax looked surprised. “We should.” She flipped open the communicator again.

 

-^-

 

Archer rounded the door to Sickbay. He approached the sounds of voices, judging them to be happy. As he stepped round the side he found Tucker sat on a biobed, his legs dangling over the edge, and a content Phlox running a device up and down his left hand. T’Pol was doing the same to his right.

“Well this looks about right,” Archer announced.

Tucker leant his head back to see round T’Pol’s shoulder. “Hey, Captain. Saved your ship again. You’re welcome.”

Archer grinned. “That you did. This is going in the log - however, it’s going to have to read that you did it single-handed - no pun intended.”

“I’m going to get hand jokes for the next six weeks, aren’t I?” Tucker groaned.

Archer came around the front to lean back on the adjacent biobed. “How bad is it?”

“Just superficial skin rupture,” Phlox said. “He’ll be back at work the day after tomorrow with no ill effects.”

“Good,” Archer nodded. He sniffed, pinning Tucker with a stern look. “So he can give back the Bajoran tricorder he lifted from the scene, yes?”

Tucker’s face turned aggrieved. “Oh come _on_ , Captain! It’s _one_ piece of tech! No-one’s going to miss it!”

T’Pol paused in her ministrations. “You cannot keep it, Trip. It is of another time, and another race, and we cannot possess such technology.”

Archer raised his eyebrows at her profile. _‘Trip?’ Since when?_ He cleared his throat. “T’Pol’s right. Officially, I’m very disappointed in you and I’ll also have to note this breach of protocol in your record.”

“Respectfully, you cannot, Captain,” T’Pol said, turning the healing device back on and beginning to again sweep it over the skin covering the back of his right hand.

“Excuse me?” Archer asked. “I would never have expected favouritism from you, T’Pol.”

All noise withdrew from Sickbay. The silence it left behind was tense. Phlox’s eyes swivelled up to take stock of the Vulcan’s expression. Although a slight tinge of green had come to her ears, her face was completely calm. She switched off the device, placed it on the biobed next to Tucker, and turned around to look Archer in the eye.

“You have already stated that you will not be able to enter Chief O’Brien’s involvement in the ship not blowing up due to an explosive device into your log. It would be logical to conclude that you are not going to record anything related to time travel or this orb of another time and people in your official Captain’s log, to prevent this information from informing others, including Starfleet and the Vulcan High Command, that we inadvertently met and mixed with people of our own future and saw how Starfleet will continue. Therefore you cannot report Commander Tucker for attempting to harbour future technology, as, according to your log, there was no contact with future people, and therefore no future technology to harbour.” She waited patiently.

Tucker grinned but folded his lower lip under his teeth to keep it in check. He looked down determinedly. Phlox chuckled to himself as he continued to sweep the healing device over his left hand.

Archer’s eyes narrowed but he was smiling. “Just joking, T’Pol. Just joking.” He shook his head as if to clear it. “So where is it?” he asked Tucker.

Tucker’s face dropped. He sighed. “In my pocket.”

Archer looked at him - just looked. It was T’Pol who unzipped a large pocket over his leg and pulled out a brown tricorder. Her eyes went over it for a moment - and then she turned and handed it to Archer. She picked up the healing device and continued with her work.

Archer appraised the tech. in his hands. “Are all our crew accounted for - and theirs sent home?”

“Doctor Bashir was the last to depart - and he left several minutes ago, Captain,” T’Pol nodded, as if nothing had happened.

Tucker sniffed to himself and looked up, but T’Pol was totally immersed in her work. “Captain?” he asked.

“Yes, Trip.”

“Don’t you think it’s a shame that… well that we’re leavin’ so soon? I mean, we all seem to get along. And we can’t breathe a word of this to anyone outside o’ this ship.”

“What’s your point, Trip?” Archer asked.

“What would be the harm in everyone having a night off? We been out here for a while now, and we all know that no-one’s had shore leave in so long most people have forgotten what the term means.”

Archer sighed. “We can’t just head over to the station and start treating the place like Risa,” he argued. “And the less contact we have with these future people the better. That’s the _point_ , Trip.”

“They could come over here - restrict everyone to the mess,” Tucker said. “And… Well. We’ve already been mixing with some of them. They’ve got so many people who ain’t from Earth, and… It’d give us all something to look forward to.”

Phlox nodded. “I agree with Commander Tucker, Captain. Mixing with alien races is always productive. And knowing that we are safe with these races, and no-one is trying to kill us, eat us or steal _our_ technology or parts would be a big relief to many. I recall Lieutenant Reed saying this to me only a few days before this started, over the corpse of a Endarlevian vole. I am sure he’s not the only one who feels this way.”

“This _is_ why we are out here, Captain,” T’Pol said.

He looked at her with disbelief. “You, of all people. I expected you to say ‘logically we cannot mix with these people socially’.”

“Statistically, whatever damage our mixing may cause should already have happened,” she said simply. “We were much more likely to pick up secrets and future technology during moments of dire emergency and distress than from a social gathering where humans prefer to make talk as small as possible.”

Trucker chuckled. “She’s got you there, Captain.”

Archer shook his head. “I still say no. There’s too much that can go wrong.” He sighed, then wiped a hand down his face. “I’ll go check we’re ready to separate. We can hope now that Major Kira knows how to get the damned thing in the box.” He nodded to Phlox and then walked out of Sickbay.

The Doctor put down his device and stood back. “Well. That has initiated a lot of reconstructive healing, but it’ll take all night and perhaps all day tomorrow to really fix itself. Do _not_ start work in Engineering the day _after_ tomorrow - and not until you’ve come to see me first,” he warned.

“Sure,” Tucker nodded. “Thanks.”

“I’m sure we’re all indebted to you and Mister O’Brien,” he smiled. Then he glanced at T’Pol and walked away.

The Vulcan continued to work on his right hand in silence. He watched her hand pass over his, over and over. “I think it’s done,” he said quietly.

She paused, then switched the device off abruptly. She set it down. “It would appear so.” She turned his hand over in hers, scrutinising the bright red welts across his skin. “These should disappear in a few days.”

“Apart from that one,” he said, lifting his left hand to point to a tiny scar on the heel of his palm.

“Ah. Your souvenir from trying to kill rodents - what Phlox has discovered is an Endarlevian vole - in crawl spaces,” she said.

“Yeah.” He let his eyes go up to watch her face, still intent on his palm. “I told you I’d be ok. Then. And now.”

Her thumbs brushed over the undamaged strips of his skin. “I am… relieved.”

“Relieved enough to change _Bonnie and Clyde_ for _The Man Who Could Cheat Death_ at movie night?” he asked cheekily.

“No,” she said simply, letting his hand go. She stepped back. “We must prepare to be ejected from this time bubble.”

“Yeah but seriously, if the movie _was_ changed, would you still come as my date?”

“I am not going as your date,” she stated, turning away from him and heading for the exit. “You are going as mine.”

“That’s not a no!” he called after her.

She pressed the button to open the doors. “The movie is, as you humans say, a ‘deal-breaker’.”

“What’s so important about an outlaw-lovers-on-the-run flick anyhow?”

“Deal. Breaker.”

“Fine!” he called.

She walked out and the doors closed behind her.

Phlox appeared from the recesses of Sickbay, busying around until he came to the biobed and picked up the two healing devices. “A date, eh?” he asked with a friendly smile.

“Yeah. So?” Tucker asked defensively.

“Good for you,” he said, patting his shoulder. “It’s been a long time coming.” He grinned as he walked away.

Tucker scratched at the back of his head, pushed himself off the biobed, and thought about where to go to get the best view as the ship popped back out into his own time and space.

 

-^-

 

Dax picked up the box. “Ok, Sisko says we’re ready - Trip managed to sneak a Bajoran tricorder off O’Brien, but even that’s been returned.”

“You know… it would have been nice to have said goodbye to Trip, and everyone who’s helped on this,” Kira said.

“Well, Sisko’s orders. And Captain Archer’s. They agree we shouldn’t have any further contact,” Dax shrugged. “I know what you mean, though. I’d really like to spend time with Malcolm again - sometimes there’s a part of me that misses how regimented he can be. And from his stories, well… it would have been nice if that had included T’Pol and Tucker.”

Kira smiled. “You can add them to the list of people you’d like to meet again.”

“True. Malcolm, one of my ex-wives, ooh - my second husband. And maybe the woman who ran the records office when Curzon was on Qo’nos. She was _fun_.”

“Alright,” Kira said, waving her hand in defeat. “Let’s do this. One orb, going in the box.”

 

-^-

 

Archer got up from his chair. “Mister Mayweather - you have the bridge,” he said.

“Aye, sir,” Mayweather said with a smile.

Archer went to the turbolift door, pausing to look back at Reed. “Malcolm - you want to see us fall back into real space?”

“I think I’ll stay here, sir,” he said. “Just in case.”

“Fair enough.”

Hoshi Sato was already getting up from her chair. “Sir - may I come with you?”

“Of course.”

She hurried round the bridge and walked with him into the turbolift. As it was whizzing down, she turned to him. “It’s a shame we can’t all say goodbye, sir. But I know we can’t.”

“I wish everyone else understood that,” he sighed.

The turbolift stopped and they walked out, heading straight to the officer’s mess. As the door opened, they looked up to see it was already filling up with crew members eager to be at the large windows. Some were chatting, pointing to the space station still visible in the window. Others were in off-duty clothes, holding hands with similarly relieved crew as they gazed at the station.

Archer looked around at the faces, every one covered in wonder, in hope, in relaxed happiness that this time, no-one had taken a pot-shot at them or their ship. He sighed, looked at his boots, and then drew himself up. He walked over, crew members realising who he was and giving way.

He waved his hand at them, happy to be tall enough to see over them from the back.

They waited.

 

-^-

 

The Promenade was chock-full of people, grouped by every window, watching the ship hanging in space before them. Voices, whispers, smiles and appreciation met Sisko and Bashir as they walked up behind them.

“Shame,” Bashir said. “But I understand.”

“I’m tempted to reverse my decision,” Sisko commiserated. “But I know I can’t.”

“It’s enough to know they’re going home.” Bashir’s eyes settled on the _Enterprise_ , sparkling with fascination at its simple existence seemingly just outside the large window.

“Quite.”

They waited.

 

-^-

 

Dax opened her communicator. “Ok, Chief. We’re ready.”

“I’ve got you two isolated. Initiating confinement beams… now,” came his reply.

“Kira - go,” she said.

Kira set the vedek’s orb container down on the floor. She opened the doors outwards, kneeling behind it and looking up at the orb. “Uh… ok. Here we go.” She cleared her throat. Quiet Bajoran words were chanted in the direction of the orb.

It slowed its spin. Its position did not change.

Kira put her hands face up on top of the box. She repeated the words.

The orb slowed until it had nearly stopped. Without warning, it vanished.

Kira noticed a shadow falling on the floor where it had been. She turned the box around slowly - and found it nestled safely inside. She grinned. “Thank you,” she said in relief. She grasped the two doors firmly - and brought them together, shutting them with a quiet click.

 

-^-

 

Archer put his hands behind his back. Sato edged round the side of someone’s shoulder to keep track of the station. “I didn’t think it’d take this long,” she said.

“Patience, Ensign,” he said with a smile.

 

-^-

 

Sisko and Bashir watched the people in front of them point and smile at the ship. Bashir glanced at Sisko. “I’d have thought they’d have done it by now,” he mused.

“How fast can _you_ coax a tear of the Prophets into an empty box?” Sisko smiled.

Bashir nodded. “Hmm.”

Sisko’s comm badge beeped. He tapped at it. “Sisko here.”

“Captain?” Kira said slowly.

“Yes, Major. Are you ready?”

“That’s just it. It’s been locked in the box for over a minute now.”

Sisko looked back out of the window at the _Enterprise_. He looked at Bashir. Then back at the ship. His mouth opened but stalled as he looked for something to say. Finally his shoulders sagged. “Understood.”

 

 


	11. ELEVEN

 

 

Kira paced around the conference table, her hands behind her back. “I don’t understand. The orb is in the monk’s ceremonial box. It shouldn’t be able to sustain this time bubble any more.”

Sisko, Bashir and Odo were around the table, each looking rather pensive.

The door opened suddenly and Dax and O’Brien came in.

“We’ve got it,” Dax said, waving a tricorder. “Evidence that the bubble is now self-sustaining. Kira will need to tell the orb to shut it down.”

“Can you do that?” Sisko asked as he turned his chair to see Kira had stopped by a round Cardassian window. The _Enterprise_ outside caught his eye past her shoulder.

“I think so,” she said. “I got us back from Kirk’s ship, so this should be… something similar, right?”

“I’ll leave that to you.” He pushed at the table to get up.

“Captain,” she blurted. He paused. “Can we talk?” she asked.

Sisko thought for a moment. “Dax and O’Brien - full inventory, please. We cannot leave anything behind. Odo - please check that all our staff and theirs are where they should be. Bashir - get ready. I don’t know what tremors or shocks will go through the station when we’re ejected from this bubble.” He nodded. “Dismissed.”

They all got up and filed out. Kira stayed in place, waiting.

Sisko watched the door shut behind his officers and then turned his chair toward her. “Now. What is it, Major?”

“Sir… I don’t know why or how, but I think the orb… it wants us to have another chance to stay.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Major, we cannot just decide that we can change history by—”

“That’s not what I meant. We could have one evening, just a few hours, with that crew. You saw it yourself - they need shore leave. I’m not saying bring anyone over here. What I’m saying is let’s show them it’s ok to have downtime. You saw how they reacted to us - they’re edgy, on guard all the time, jumping at offers of help like they’re used to being attacked first.” She paused. “They’re good people. And they deserve a break. With friends.”

He smiled, shaking his head at the table. “I’ve been through all this myself. I sat there, explaining to the Bajoran inspectors that it was all going to be alright, that you were going to send everyone home, and these arguments went through my head.” He looked up at her. “But there’s no reason—”

“Captain,” she interrupted. She pulled the chair out to his left, sitting down. Her hands went to the dark surface of the table and she laced her fingers together. “I thought the Prophets had brought us here for me - to make me stay in my past, to change Bajor’s future.” She paused. “But… maybe it’s not Bajor’s fate I’m - _we’re_ \- supposed to change. Maybe all this is for _you_.”

“Me?”

“Starfleet. Maybe we’ve already given that ship out there the idea that Starfleet can have people like Dax, like Worf, like everyone they don’t currently have. Maybe it’s already got through to Archer that the Federation will need other races to succeed. But maybe it’s not been made clear enough.”

Sisko pulled at his lower lip in thought. “Hmm.”

“Bajor needs its Emissary. If Archer doesn’t change people’s mind about other planets, if he doesn’t get across to his Admirals how much he relies on his alien crew members… Will Starfleet even reach Bajor? Will you ever be assigned here?” She paused. “The answer is yes, because it’s already happened. But as Trip said to me - how do we know it just happened like that? How do we know that _we_ didn’t cause it to happen by being a product of it happening?”

“…By being a product of it happening.” Sisko’s hand dropped from his lip. He looked at her. “You’re not saying this a predestination paradox, are you? Because Temporal Investigations hate those.”

Kira smiled. “No. I’m saying this is your chance to be Starfleet for them. The future Starfleet. Show them the universe is _not_ out to kill them.”

Sisko grinned. “I think you’ve made a very good point.”

“That’s all I wanted to do.” She got up.

“Major.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good work. Tracking down the orb, keeping it in place, getting it back in the box… You know there’s no-one else who could have done that, don’t you.”

“Maybe the Prophets did put me here on purpose after all,” she teased.

He grinned. “Next time you speak to them, thank them for me. I should have done it years ago.”

Her face dropped in surprise. “Uh - of course, sir.”

He waved a hand at her. “Go. Get Ops ready - we’ll have to decide how and when we go over there for a soirée. And how I’m going to break this to Archer.”

She nodded and walked out. Sisko grinned at the table top.

 

-^-

 

Archer trudged his way back to the turbolift, painfully aware of the crew members around him radiating panic and uncertainty. He rode up to the bridge, his hands by his sides, trying to avoid the realisation that this was one of the days he wished he’d never got out of bed.

He crossed the bridge. No-one said a word as he sat down. Sato came out of the next turbolift to arrive and went straight to her seat. She pushed her comms device in her ear and kept her head down.

Archer looked at the crew around him. Reed was checking systems, but it looked to all the world as if he were simply going through the motions. Mayweather could have been asleep on duty, such was the enthusiasm he had for keeping the ship controlled and parked. The science officer currently sitting in T’Pol’s customary seat, an Ensign from his uniform pips, was plodding through some kind of work as if he had his mind on bigger things.

Archer rubbed a hand over his chin in thought. _T’Pol. She’s the only one not up here. And why is that again? Because when she’s not on duty she has something to look forward to. She has something to explore that isn’t simply her job._ He looked around again. _What do we have? What have we turned into? What have I done to these people?_

He got up abruptly. “Lieutenant Reed - you’re in charge,” he said suddenly. Reed looked up, surprised. “I need to speak to that space station.”

“Yes sir,” Reed responded.

Archer turned and left the bridge.

 

-^-

 

Sisko went into the prefect’s office and sat down. He looked at the comms equipment on his desk for a moment before he swung his chair to look out of the window. Then he looked back at the screen. His head went out and he touched the requisite button. “Sisko to Major Kira. Can you put me through to the ship, please? Private channel.”

“Channel open, sir - audio only. You’re through to Captain Archer’s office.”

Sisko cleared his throat. “Captain. This is Sisko. About our failure to separate the time bubble a short time ago…”

“Captain. It’s good to hear your voice,” Archer replied. “I wanted to speak to you.”

“Go ahead.” Sisko sat back, resting his head on the chair to consider the ceiling.

“Do you have any idea how we get out of this?”

“My first officer has it under control,” Sisko smiled. “She’s confident she can perform the separation whenever we’re ready.”

“Right.” Archer paused. “This is going to sound forward, but… Well I was wondering if you’d bring a few crew over here to meet some of mine.”

“Can I ask why?”

“I’ll be honest with you - we need it. We need a bit of hope for the future. My crew need… a distraction, some good news, something to give them a break from the routine.” Archer sighed. “It’s selfish, and it’s a dangerous thing to ask.”

“We’ll be there at nineteen hundred,” Sisko grinned. “I’ll keep it to fifty officers. They’ll be briefed on things they can’t talk about.”

There was a long pause. “Thank you, Captain. I’ll warn our chef.”

“Oh if I know my people, we’ll bring our own.”

“Then I look forward to receiving your crew.”

“Expect a few runabouts - shuttles. It’ll be faster than beaming with that amount of people.”

“Understood. Archer out.”

Sisko sat back. He reached out and picked up his baseball, only to toss it high in the air and catch it with enthusiasm.

 

-^-

 

Dax pulled Kira along by the arm, hurrying them up to the doors of the officer’s mess on the _Enterprise_. “Now you do exactly as I told you and this will work perfectly,” she said. She whisked two large bottles out from under her arms and handed them to Kira.

She took them dumbly. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“Romulan ale is perfect for this evening,” Dax grinned. “Just make sure one whole bottle gets dumped in each of the two bowls of punch, ok?”

Kira rolled her eyes. “Why do I listen to you?”

“Because it’s more fun that way.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder and pressed the door release.

Groups of blue and black uniforms were clumped about in nervous packs of soft talking, with red and grey Bajoran ones mixed in at odd intervals. Dax took a few steps in - and then her face fell.

“Oh no,” she said with distaste. “It’s worse than I thought.” She walked in but veered off to one side, waving Kira in and then opening a relatively old communicator. She began speaking into it quietly.

“Commander,” came a voice from behind her.

She finished her conversation quickly and snapped it shut. Upon turning she found Malcolm Reed with a cup of tea in his hand. “Malcolm. Hi,” she grinned.

“Oh, uh, yes,” he managed in surprise.

“Would it make you more comfortable if I called you ‘Lieutenant’?” she said knowingly.

“To some extent, yes,” he said.

“Well too bad. Come with me, _Malcolm_ , because we have people to speak to while we still can.” She looped her hand through his arm and yanked him off with her toward a familiar brown uniform to their right. “T’Pol! Mister Tucker!” she said excitedly.

The two officers broke from their demure conversation with two Bajorans in security uniforms to turn to them.

“Commander,” T’Pol said.

“It’s Jadzia - we’re off the clock now,” she grinned. She looked at Malcolm to her right and then Trip to her left. Her arms went out and she grabbed them by the shoulders, lurching them over to squeeze them to her sides in big hugs. She looked dead ahead at T’Pol. “The four of us, together at last. This is going to be _great!_ ”

“What do you mean, at last?” Tucker asked innocently.

 

-^-

 

Sisko walked across the bridge, nodding to each of the skeleton crew still there. He pressed at the chime on the ready room door. “Captain? Permission to interrupt you.”

The door slid open and Archer looked up at him. “Come in, Captain, please.”

“Benjamin,” Sisko said. “So. Feel like going to a meet ’n greet?”

“In a minute,” Archer said. “Thought we’d have some of the good stuff up here before we venture down to the sedate and oh-so-official silent mingling down in the officer’s mess.”

“I like the way you think,” Sisko smiled. He stepped in and the door shut behind him.

Archer went to his desk and opened a bottom drawer, bringing out a bottle. “We got this from the Orion Syndicate. It’s not exactly bourbon, but it’s not bad.”

“I’ve never had Orion alcohol,” Sisko said. “We’ll call this… exploration.”

Archer grinned. “Look,” he said, as he pulled out two glasses and began to unscrew the bottle. “I know how we treated you when we first met. I apologise for that. But like I said, this crew—”

“No explanation necessary,” he said. “We know what it’s like out here - Captain.”

“Jon,” he said, filling a glass and holding it out for him.

Sisko took it. “Jon.” He lifted the glass as Archer finished pouring his. “To… faith. In all its many forms.”

“I heard that, Benjamin,” Archer said. They knocked the drinks back in one go, making them both pause to assess the damage to their throats for a moment. Archer cleared his. “Ok. Maybe… _one_ more before we go to the sombre room downstairs.”

“Agreed,” Sisko said.

 

-^-

 

Archer stood outside the door to the officer’s mess. He looked at Sisko. “Well, here we go. Last hours of quiet contemplation about exploration before we all leave for good.”

Sisko put a hand on his shoulder. “It’ll be fine. Let’s go.”

Archer opened the door.

They gaped.

Some kind of loud Bajoran drum music was coming from the back of the room. Something off to their right was on fire, and in front of the windows to their left were two officers - one in blue, one in red - grappling it out to the clapping and whistling of assembled spectators. An arm-wrestling match was taking place on top of the chef’s display case, and several people were on tables dancing or clapping along to the beat.

The two captains looked at each other. They stepped inside to let the door shut.

“Daaaaaxx!” Sisko bellowed.

A grey and black uniform freed itself from the throng and she appeared in front of them. Her uniform jacket was open and her sleeves were partly rolled up. There were dark spots on the grey shoulders of her uniform that, even from that distance, looked suspiciously like alcohol.

“Sir!” she grinned, raising her right hand to her forehead in an old-fashioned salute.

“What is going on here, Commander?” Sisko demanded.

Dax lifted a hand to begin counting off fingers. “Two sanctioned fights, one wrestling match, one fire-eater, one Bajoran band, two bottles of Romulan ale, a bottle of something called Jack Daniels, two more bottles of something called Stol-ich-naya, three arm-wrestling matches, one drinking contest, a darts match, one poker tournament and… wait, I know I’m forgetting something…”

A loud cry was heard and someone was catapulted up and out of the crowd behind her left shoulder. He landed face-down next to Dax’s boots. Archer crouched immediately to help the man up, but he simply brushed down his _Enterprise_ uniform, nodded in thanks, and then turned and ran to squeeze back into the crowd - who shouted and whooped in joy at his arrival.

“Oh - and Worf is crew tossing,” she said matter-of-factly. “I _knew_ I was forgetting something.”

Sisko put his hands on his hips, his face going dark with anger. “Commander, this is _not_ what I meant by a leaving party.”

“Which is why it’s a good thing you told _me_ to go on ahead, Benjamin,” she said, folding her arms. “Honestly. If it were up to you we’d all be standing around talking like we’re at a funeral.”

Sisko’s face went hard.

Archer grinned. “Well I think it’s great,” he said. “I’ve never seen my crew have so much fun.”

“Thank you, Captain,” she said impishly, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m currently winning an arm-wrestling match.” She turned and disappeared back into the crowd like water in whisky.

The two captains looked at each other.

“Wise woman,” Archer offered.

“You want her?” Sisko said. “I warn you, she’s nearly four hundred years old and yes, she probably _has_ seen this all before.”

“Four hundred…?” Archer shook his head. “Drink, Benjamin?”

“Drink, Jon.”

They made their way to the two large punch bowls by the crowds. “At least this is just punch,” Archer said as he filled two large glasses to the top.

 

-^-

 

The corridor was clean, wide, amused. It watched Archer walk down it with something of a tiny spring in his step. As he turned a corner he spotted two crew members coming his way. He nodded to them - and they smiled broadly as they nodded back.

He paused as they walked by. Then he straightened his shoulders and carried on, toward the door. He pressed the button to open it up. He looked inside.

The officer’s mess was a state. Chairs were overturned, streamers and empty cups were strewn about the floor and furnishings, and a few pieces of clothing and burnt-out sticks adorned others.

Archer put his hands on his hips and shook his head. And then he smiled. He pulled out his communicator and flipped it open. “Archer to Deep Space Nine,” he said. “We’re all clear here. No-one was left behind last night.”

“Good morning Captain,” came Sisko’s cheerful voice. “Glad to hear it. We’ve done a head-count and we’re all present and correct. With your agreement, I’d like to get us separated now.”

“Go ahead, Captain. Thank you for your help and hospitality.”

“Thanks for letting us go home,” Sisko grinned.

“Wherever Commander Dax is and whatever state she’s in this morning, tell her I appreciate what she’s done for us.” He looked up to see three crew walk into the mess, and immediately start laughing and pointing at the carnage left behind. He couldn’t help a chuckle.

“Will do, Captain. Happy trails.”

“And you, Captain Sisko, and you. Twenty-second century out.” He flipped the communicator closed and unzipped his uniform a tiny way. “Morning, crewmen,” he said loudly.

The three women turned. “Oh! Sir!” one said. “We came to start clearing up, sir.”

“I’ll give you a hand.” Then he smiled and got to work.

 

-^-

 

Sisko turned from the crisis table to look up at Dax. “Ready, Old Man?”

She cradled her sizeable cup of raktajino and nodded. “As I’ll ever be,” she croaked, her throat understandably rough.

He leant forward and pressed a button. “Ok, Major. Whenever you’re ready.”

“Understood. Everyone hold onto something,” came Kira’s reply.

He cut the connection and stood back, his hands gripping the edge of the table. He looked around at the bleary-eyed but satisfied figures of Worf, O’Brien and Dax. Even Odo appeared weary as he watched from behind Dax’s station.

_Weary, but happy_ , he smiled. _But not half as weary as Jon’s crew right now, I’ll bet_.

 

-^-

 

Kira got up from her kneel of prayer in front of the orb’s box. She looked at the vedek and nodded, and he moved away, into the next room of the Bajoran shrine.

She heard more shoes and turned to see Poraal creeping round the corner. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

“Oh, don’t be. You can watch if you like,” Kira smiled.

“No, I mean… This was my fault,” Poraal said. “I started all this off.”

“However you did, I’m _glad_ you did,” Kira said. “And so is a ship of previously tired-out Starfleet officers over on that ship outside the window.”

“I don’t understand,” Poraal said.

Kira waved her closer. “You don’t have to. We have Prophets to do that for us.”

Poraal smiled. “Now you sound like Raffik.” She stepped closer, intrigued.

“I’m just grateful the orb was brought here. Now I have to send us all home. Seriously, you can watch if you want to. I know everyone else is along the promenade, but…”

Poraal waved a hand. “I don’t care. I’ve seen space and ships come and go. But I’d like to see the orb at work.”

Kira nodded. She turned to the box and took a deep breath. She put her hands to the doors.

And then she opened them.

 

-^-

 

Along the promenade, people gasped and pointed as space itself turned blue. A giant wormhole-like haze descended on everything outside the window. It swirled and produced patterns and colours inside its gaseous form.

Suddenly it lifted, leaving behind the blackness of space, and the twinkle of stars.

“That’s it?” Bashir grumped, shoulder to shoulder with Morn. “I expected… I don’t know… a bubble to actually burst, or something.”

Morn turned to him and opened his mouth.

“Oh yes, I know you’ve seen that before,” Bashir said. “Quark’s? Hair of the dog, and all that. I’ve got a huge hangover and I said I’d meet Miles in there for a game of darts.”

Morn nodded, Bashir patted him on the back, and they drifted off with all the other spectators, across the promenade to the bar.

 

-^-

 

Sisko looked over at Dax. “Well? Are we back to normal space?” he asked.

She frowned at her console, pressing at read-outs. “We are,” she smiled, looking up. “We have communications refreshed across the board and cartography matches up. We’re back.”

“Phew,” Sisko said, sharing a relieved look with Worf next to him. “Can you tell if we’re… the same? What’s changed?” he asked quickly.

Dax pressed a few more screens and read quickly. “Bajoran radio traffic is… unchanged. Starfleet’s subspace signal is… unchanged. Same… Federation president, same… admiral of the line, same… everything. I think we’re ok, Benjamin.”

“Good. Keep checking. I want to make sure we haven’t ruined anything,” he said. She nodded and bent to her work. Sisko stepped back from the crisis table and went up the steps to the prefect’s office. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll see what Starfleet traffic has built up in my comms folder since we’ve been away.” He paused at the top of the stairs. “As you were, people,” he smiled.

Dax went back to her work, until a sudden comms beep caught her attention. She pressed at controls, ready to bring it to Sisko’s attention, until she realised it was a message for her personally. Noting it was also text-only, she frowned as she secured her terminal, checked the message for dangerous viruses or similar, and then opened it up.

‘ _I apologise for the interruption to your work. You have not met me nor heard of me before today, however I have been fortunate enough to listen to tales of you as you were and are now since I was very young. My name is P’Lars Tucker, and my grandmother, T’Pol of Vulcan, spoke very highly of you. She requested that I send you a message at this time, in this way, that we might open discourse over subspace. I hope to visit you once we have made satisfactory contact. She also requested that I ask you to re-examine your time as Tobin, as it’s possible, unless quantum theory has changed since her time and yours, that some of Tobin’s memories may be different now._ ’

Dax sat back, stunned. She leant forward and read the first part again - and then again. Then she grinned very, very widely.

‘ _If it is agreeable to you, I can be on the station in a matter of weeks. I currently work at the Vulcan Embassy on Trill and can easily assign myself to an ambassadorial tour of your station. Please indicate if this would be acceptable. I can also guarantee that a crate of Romulan ale will accompany me. My grandfather was most insistent you understand that. He always said he still owed you for something. He said you would explain for me in due course. Yours, in spirit and understanding, P’Lars Tucker_.’

Dax read it all the way through again. She looked over her shoulder at Sisko’s office doors somewhat surreptitiously. And then, it was fair to say, she had never sent a welcoming reply so fast in all of her eight lives.

 

-^-

 

T’Pol stepped out of Engineering, striding along the corridor. She paused suddenly, then turned right and went straight to her quarters.

Her fingers slid over the communications equipment in the desk. She sat and immediately got to work, connecting to the Starfleet registry to call up names, postings, comms frequencies. Finally, one name stood out and she regarded it for a long time.

Then she leant forward and began composing a message.

‘ _I apologise for the interruption to your work. You have not met me nor heard of me before today, however I have been fortunate enough to listen to tales of you as you were and are now. My name is T’Pol of Vulcan, and I currently serve on the NX-01 Enterprise. In an incident that will never be made public, I met Dax. Not Tobin Dax, as you are now, but most definitely Dax. As we share an interest in engineering and science, I believe it would be beneficial if we were to remain in communication. The most practical way is to open discourse over subspace. I have two human colleagues here who would also be very interested to meet you._ _If it is agreeable to you, when we next arrive at Jupiter Station for maintenance we will be in a perfect place for the four of us to be together again. Please indicate if this would be acceptable. I can also guarantee that a crate of Romulan ale will accompany us. My colleague Mister Tucker says he owes it to you. Yours, in spirit and understanding, T’Pol_.’

She sat and read it through many, many times. And then she pressed ‘send’. She barely had time to clear down her terminal and stand up before there was an answering beep. She bent to read it, and was inordinately pleased to see just four words in reply: _You’re more than welcome_.

She straightened up, put her hands behind her back, and strode out of her quarters with perhaps the tiniest spring in her step. Her walk took her to the officer’s mess, where most people were filing out.

Archer had stepped back from the windows. Some crew members were giving the view of normal space one last, fond look, before turning away and leaving the room to go back to their posts.

The now very clean and very ship-shape officer’s mess emptied very quickly, and Archer found himself standing with two other people.

“Home again home again, jiggety-jig,” Tucker said quietly, as if to himself.

“I do not understand,” T’Pol said.

Archer smiled. “We’re back. And I think we’re going to be ok.”

“Yeah. That was some party,” Tucker nodded. “Man am I glad she spiked the punch like that.”

Archer chuckled. “I think I’ll overlook that. After all, who am I going to tell?”

“She’s got you there,” he nodded.

T’Pol put her hands behind her back. “Engineering reports we are back to full running, Captain.”

“So they actually got along for one day without you down there?” Archer asked Tucker.

“So they say. I’d like to check it,” he said.

T’Pol looked at Archer. “With your permission, Captain, I would retire.”

“Of course. You drank more than we did last night,” Archer teased.

“You think that was a lot?” Tucker scoffed. “T’Pol can drink pretty much _everyone_ under the table.”

“I’m not going to ask how you know that,” Archer said with an overly pleasant smile.

T’Pol inclined her head and walked away.

Tucker cleared his throat. “Anyway… I’ll go give the ship a once-over, make sure we’ve got that nacelle sorted out once and for all.”

“Hmm,” Archer said faintly.

Tucker hesitated. “You ok, Captain?”

“You know what?” he said suddenly. “I think I am. I really do think I am. This whole thing has been such an eye-opener.”

“You’re telling me,” Tucker said, running a hand through his hair.

“Everything feels… new. Like… I know what we’re doing out here now, why it has to be us.”

“Why _does_ it have to be us?” Tucker asked, confused.

“Because we’re explorers, and we’re not the same as everyone back home on Earth.”

“Well T’Pol certainly isn’t.”

“That’s my point,” Archer said, glancing at him. “Earth still hasn’t realised how important it is that we’re not alone in this. I think this whole time bubble thing has forced me to re-assess a lot of things.”

Tucker shrugged. “I think a lot of people are feelin’ that way this morning.”

“I think we’ve found our way forward, Trip.” He turned and looked at him. “I think… if we’re going to survive beyond Earth, we have to learn to take a delight in the essential differences between Earth and other cultures. We have to learn that differences in ideas and attitudes are a bonus, that they’re part of life’s exciting variety, not something to fear.”

Tucker grinned. “You been speakin’ to Dax, too.”

Archer chuckled. “A gentleman called Morn, actually. He’s very… well-travelled.”

“That he is, Captain.”

“Well.” Archer paused. “I think that’s it. I think we need to go find new life where we can, explore their cultures and celebrate the differences we find.”

Tucker slapped his hands together, rubbing them briskly. “And with that in mind, I’m off to prep for movie night.”

Archer turned a confused look on him. “How do you ‘explore’ when it’s the same old movies, Trip?”

“Oh Captain,” he said with a grin, “you have no idea.”

 

 

**FIN**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap, people! Thanks for reaching the end.
> 
> And yes, Archer's speech is a Gene Roddenberry quote:
> 
> "If man is to survive, he will have learned to take a delight in the essential differences between men and between cultures. He will learn that differences in ideas and attitudes are a delight, part of life's exciting variety, not something to fear."
> 
> LLAP, people. And PALL.


End file.
